


An Affair To Remember

by RZZMG



Series: Hermione x Draco stories [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childbirth, Co-workers, Dating, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Friend break-up, Friend reconcilliation, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Professors, Honeymoon, Infidelity, Jealousy, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Post-Hogwarts, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Hermione Granger-Weasley is married to a consummate cheater in Ron Weasley, but so far, she's taken the high-road, choosing to forgive his infidelities. However, in her heart, she is desperately in lust with Professor Draco Malfoy – her former childhood enemy, and now co-worker at Hogwarts. </p><p>Draco has set his sights on wooing Hermione away from her husband, and he's refusing to take 'no' for an answer. </p><p>This will be an affair to remember!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Revision 1.0: 11 March, 2010  
> Revision 2.0: 11 March, 2015
> 
> This story was a Fic challenge from user "WHITEOWL". Here were her requirements:
> 
> 1\. Draco x Hermione of course.  
> 2\. Hermione's broken in some way.  
> 3\. Theodore Nott is not allowed to be the kind of lovable guy you love him to be. (sorry about that).  
> 4\. Set in Hogwarts. Optional as to when.  
> 5\. Include/Reference a unicorn, fairies, Leprechaun and the LochNess Monster.  
> 6\. Ginny Weasley is not the brilliant best friend you like her to be either. (Again, sorry about that but it had to be done)  
> 7\. Keep things believable!  
> 8\. Include a fight, either verbal or physical that's up to you. Optional as between who. Non-con requested.  
> 9\. Angsty, passionate sex. Multiple times if possible.  
> 10\. Include a bit of voyeurism.
> 
> Timeline: October, 2006 – December 2007
> 
> Story Details: Novel compliant up to The Final Battle of Hogwarts (May, 1998), then follows the EWE format (Epilogue, What Epilogue?). THIS IS A ROMANTIC, ANGSTY FIC WITH A BIT OF DARK TO IT, BUT EVENTUALLY A FLUFFY ENDING. British spellings for this fic.

 

 

**Early October, 2006**

 

The Hogwarts library was always comfortably quiet on a Friday night, especially after ten o'clock, but now that once succoring silence held a palpable tension to it that threatened to unhinge Hermione.

"Please stop," she begged, not looking her companion in the eye, but down at her sensible leather shoes, gripping the book she'd previously been reading before being interrupted,  _More Fantastic Beasts_   _& Where To Find These_   _Too,_  close to her chest. "This isn't a game." 

True to character, Draco Malfoy did not take her request with graceful surrender. Instead, he made a challenging step closer. She took one backwards in automatic response, colliding with the bookshelf finally, knowing there was no where left to run now. She was effectively cornered by him as his arms shot out and blocked her escape to both the left and right sides.

"I never considered it one, Granger," he murmured, his breath hot against her face as he drew into her personal space without fear.

"Weasley," she corrected in a whisper, terrified now by her traitorous heart and how it reacted to this man's presence.

"Granger," he stubbornly retorted. "We both know your relationship with freckle face is a sham."

She shook her head, put her hands up to his chest to push him away, but the wall of his pectoral muscles - and one hell of a center of gravity - solidly resisted her attempts. "Move, please," she pleaded, shaking all over now. "Don't do this. I'm a married woman."

"Only on a sodding piece of paper!" he snarled, and capturing her small wrists in one hand, Malfoy abruptly yanked them above her head and pressed the entire length of his rock hard body against hers. He swooped down in the next second and kissed her for the first time. They both gasped and moaned at the electric feeling of finally, after years of verbal foreplay, they physically joined. It was true magic.

Hermione's overly active mind completely shut off and her sexually-starved body switched on as her co-worker's lips hungrily slanted over hers, at first conquering, then slowly coaxing a response from her, seeking her participation in her own seduction. Her will completely eroded in that instant, and with a whimper, she gave in to her basest desire. The book she'd been holding dropped with an unceremonious 'thunk' to the floor, flipping open to the bookmarked page she'd been reading on Karkadann, a type of very rare Persian Unicorn.

As soon as she relaxed and her mouth parted for him, Draco's tongue shot repeatedly between the split and fiercely twined around hers, sensually coaxing a response. His grip on her wrists let go, and his hands fell into her curls, tangling his long, pale fingers up in them, pulling her head closer to his with a low groan. She gripped his hips tightly for purchase, afraid she'd go tumbling end over end much as her book had, for she felt like she was in free fall.

This was the best kiss Hermione could ever remember getting, quite honestly. But then again, she'd only lip-locked with two other men in the entirety of her life: once with the Bulgarian heartthrob, Viktor Krum (a hurried, sloppy series of small pecks – her first intimacy with a man), and from then on, only with her husband, Ron (whose kisses were little more than a rushed platitude as he groped to remove her clothes and get her on her back fast). With Draco, this pleasurable art encompassed lingering, sweet, and hot touches that tingled up her spine and melted her brain.

As if cued by her eager response to his kisses, his pelvis began grinding against hers and he pushed her further back into the shelf. Pent-up desire exploded between them then. Panting hard, they started divesting themselves of clothing in a rush. His hands roamed everywhere, smoothing down the sway of her back, gliding up her waist, cupping her now exposed breasts. His mouth followed an erratic pattern as well, nibbling on her earlobe, sucking hard on her nipples, biting her pulse, sweeping across her lips. Her nails dragged down his back leaving a trail of red streaks between both shoulder blades. Their equal cries of pleasure echoed in the empty room about them.

Locked onto her lips, Draco backed her swiftly towards one of the flat tables nearby, and with an easy pull of muscle, he had her bare bottom up on the very edge of the cold, wooden surface. She spread her legs and he inched between her thighs. His exposed cock pressed against her lower lips, rubbing through her crisp hairs, leaving a trail of pre-come behind, dampening them.

"Tell me you want me," he bid, shuddering against her as the rosy-pink tip of his penis found her entrance and waited, straining for completion. He reached down between them and grabbed it, and began circling her sopping wet opening with the crown, tickling and teasing. "Say it, Hermione."

She shivered. It had been  _so bloody long_  since she'd had sex –- over a year and a half, at least -- and even then, she'd never felt this accelerated level of desire for Ron, ever. Her blood was boiling under her overly-sensitized skin, and she flushed hot all over, from the tips of her ears to her toes. She wanted Malfoy so much that her insides ached. It had been all that cleverly built-up anticipation, of course. All of the months of lingering stares across the Quidditch stands or in the Entrance Hall or in the teacher's lounge, the "accidental" brushes against her hands or waist or bottom by his well-manicured, long fingers as they passed each other in the hallways or coming and going from the storage closets or in the Greenhouses, the low whispers against her ear as he bent his tall frame down to wish her good morning or good afternoon or good evening, the argumentative banter that he threw around that had contained double entendre and sly innuendo and blatant intimation… all of it had driven her mad with want for him for almost a full year, and now they hovered on the brink of finally giving in to all of that repressed, wild sexual energy. All it would take was her telling him what she wanted.

Grabbing Draco's biceps, she grit her teeth and looked him in the eye, feeling emboldened, almost drunk on her complete abandonment of control. "TAKE. ME."

It was good enough. He nodded, and lining them up perfectly, he grabbed her thighs and thrust into her roughly, burying himself to the hilt. They both gasped loudly and their foreheads clunked together, as they reveled in the feeling of being so recklessly connected finally. He rocked side to side a bit to help open her up.

Godric, he was so big, filling her up, stretching her out!

"You're tight," he hissed, his fingers pressing into her thighs, bruising. "Merlin's rod, Granger, you haven't had sex in a long time, have you?"

She shook her head, unable to form coherent sentences; her whole body was primed for feeling only. Silken steel lay locked within her, and it felt  _so_ delicious to be wanted with such extreme and honest passion. Hermione wanted to cry at the brilliant sensations swirling through her body just then.

Laying her back on the desk gently, Draco leaned over her, staring into her eyes as if memorizing her in this moment. Then, he smirked arrogantly. "Remember not to make too much noise." With that, he rose to his full height, grabbed her hips and started moving.

At first, he was leisurely, deliberate, pulling all the way out and gliding all the way back in unhurriedly, letting them both work into the experience. It was so nice, feeling every inch give itself away to her, but the speed wasn't to Hermione's liking. She didn't want enforced restraint - she wanted them free, chaotic, primal. Wrapping her legs around her lover's waist and gripping his wrists firmly, she dug her heels into his arse, urging him on, hastening his momentum. "Fuck me, Malfoy. Fuck me hard," she demanded in a low growl and he swore under his breath, his eyes darkening as the dominant animal inside him was given permission to come out and play.

The grip on her hips tightened as he pulled her to him with an acute strength and began giving her what she wanted. He slammed into her, setting a fast, powerful tempo that had her biting back the wail that threatened to give their illicit affair away to the whole castle. It was both pleasure and pain; the kind of ecstasy she'd always hungered for.

She peeked up at him and he was alternating between watching her face, watching her breasts move, and watching himself sink into her. His wintery irises were glimmering, his lips were parted, and his cheeks were crimson with lust. Merlin, he was so beautiful!

In a very short amount of time, her orgasm crept up on her. She clenched her lower muscles forcefully, focusing her whole being on where they were joined.

"Oh, gods, I'm so close," she warned him. "Don't stop!" 

He complied, holding nothing back, pounding harder, his breathing as desperate as her own.

When it came, her climax crashed into her with all the force of a white-hot, pleasuring wave, dragging her down and drowning her in bliss. Draco's name was torn from her lips as her back arched under its incredible power. A beat later, her core clamped down on the feeling of its own will to prolong the ecstasy, her toes and fingers clenching at the same time as if they could grab hold of the sensations for just a little longer. Ultimately, she was forced to release the tension or risk her next breath. Her thighs trembled with the effort of relaxing, but the throbbing and quivering inside her core continued for a few seconds longer. At last, her body calmed as the storm passed, and a sense of utter satisfaction washed over her.

Draco had gone still within her to experience her orgasm, but now he continued his love-making of her without interruption. The rhythm of his hips changed, however, slowing down, and his thrusts drove deeper into the very heart of her. "Mmm... my turn," he purred, and proceeded to have her as he'd wanted all along – slow, steady, with measured control.

Hermione lay back and reveled in her lover's attentions, enjoying the thrumming, liquid feeling overtaking her limbs and watching him through lazy, half-lidded eyes.

Pulling her long, golden legs from around his waist, he drew one foot up towards his mouth, kissing her ankle, her calf, laving his way down towards the back of one ticklish knee. He was deliberate, never faltering in the rocking motion of his hips even as he gave attention to gently, intimately learning her body with his lips. When he'd bent at an impossible angle to reach the top of her inner thigh, he drew back and repeated the process with her other leg, showing her an attentive, tender side that she hadn't know existed within him.

She sighed with pleasure as his tongue found and exploited erogenous spots she'd never guessed she'd had. Ron had never touched her this way, she'd mused, not in all the years they'd been married. How was it possible someone like Draco Malfoy could know what she'd like?

When he'd finished his exploration of the lower part of her body, he began to learn her hands, wrist, and arms in the same manner, hunching over her to leave no spot undiscovered. Her belly, breasts, nipples, and throat were next, and with each swipe, each nibble, each kiss, Hermione came a little more alive. By the time his mouth had sealed itself over hers once more, she was humming from head to toe and ready for another orgasm.

"Take me," she pleaded around pulls of his lips. "Please."

She'd never begged for anything sexual in her life, not from Ron certainly, but right then, in the moment, she'd have given anything to reconnect with this sensual, desirous part of herself that had lain dormant for so long.

"I will," he promised, his next thrust a little more forceful, heavier, signalling his desire to find release soon. With a flexing of muscle, he pulled her bottom up and off the table, holding her suspended in the air by the strength in his arms alone. Shifting his hips, he widened his stance and dropped her calves into the crooks of his elbows, opening her up. "Oh, I definitely will, Granger."

The new angle, she quickly recognised, allowed him to plough into her at whatever speed and depth he desired, and it allowed the thick ridge of his crown to rub over that ultra-sensitive spot inside that was guaranteed to quickly send her over the moon. Never having been taken this way before, Hermione grabbed onto the edge of the table for stability as he abandoned the laid-back, easy pace for a much more exciting rhythm, one guaranteed to bring them both to a fabulous end sooner rather than later. Flesh slapped against flesh, and the table rocked as he incrementally sped up.

Oh, Godric, surely, someone would hear them!

"I want you to come so hard that you see stars," he panted, uncaring of the noise they were making. He leaned over her and captured her mouth for a quick kiss, forcing her to meet his iron-hard gaze. "I want you to see me behind your eyelids every time you close them, Granger. I want you thinking of this moment tonight, when you're in your bed, and I want you touching yourself and feeling me still inside you."

Malfoy was digging into her again, just as he always had, only this time he was using something infinitely more primal than words to disturb her world. Slytherin that he was, he was exploiting her vulnerability, tapping into her vanity, using her desperation to bind her tightly to him and his desires, uncaring of the mess that all of it would cause in the aftermath. 

He was selfish to want this, something he couldn't have.

But then, it was the same for her, wasn't it?

"Don't do this to me," she sobbed, unable to articulate her thoughts through the jumbling, tumbling mess of her brain right then.

"Don't do what, Granger?" he gently taunted. "Make love to you as you deserve? Show you the truth that your marriage is really over? Make you see that there's something better waiting for you, if you'd only stop being so bloody stubborn?"

She tried again to explain, but all that came out was an impassioned, "Please!" that held too many meanings to pick just a single one:

_Please bring me._

_Please stop tormenting me._

_Please keep reminding me that I'm not an ugly, unwanted wife._

_Please don't hurt me with this._

_Please don't let me fall any deeper for you than I already have._

He turned his mouth to the delicate shell of her ear and murmured against it, "From now on, you'll need this every single day. You'll crave it, crave me until you can't think of anything but us fucking like this. It'll consume you."

Shivering, she denied his devilish belief - told herself that what he wanted from her was arrogant, and preposterous, and quite impossible. Sex, that's all this was, all it could ever be. Her 'tit' for Ron's 'tat'. Stress relief. A tension breaker. A one time thing. Her curiosity sated. 

Something inside reminded her that she'd always been a rotten liar.

"No," she doggedly whined, digging her nails into the wooden edge of the desk, unable to stave off the impending climax that Draco was so expertly coaxing from her.

"Yes," he hissed in counter and thrust harder. "Fucking hell, yes!"

Even as she made to deny it again, her whole body peaked. Every nerve combusted, igniting her blood and tearing her sanity to shreds. She cried out, loudly, uncaring if anyone else heard now. Nothing else existed in that fraction of a moment than how much she loved Draco Malfoy for making her feel like this.

Her rippling body was enough to send her lover spiraling towards his own orgasm a beat after her. "YES!" Draco shouted in triumph, tossing his head back as his body tensed and then fractured, too. With a final slide forward and a gratified moan, he completely married their bodies, sealing them tightly together. His magnificent frame shuddered as he released his seed deeply into her wet, welcoming core.

Exhaustion and shock settled in nicely together, and Hermione found it nearly impossible to move, much less to think in those long minutes after her orgasm had finished with her. Released from its overwhelming sway, she lay like a limp otter napping in the warm, afternoon sun, boneless and spent from too much play.

Drained from their exertions as well, Malfoy slumped over her with a long exhale of satisfaction. Snuggling his cheek against her breast, he let her support the upper half of his weight as his hands released their nearly bruising grip on her buttocks to slide up her sides. Unlike Ron, who ritualistically pulled out of her right away and rolled over, she was profoundly aware that Draco kept their bodies intimately connected, refusing to move even when she eventually squirmed under him to be let up.

The comparison between the men in her life suddenly brought the cold reality of their situation back to the forefront of Hermione's consciousness, and with reclaimed sanity came a sobering and renewed misery. Cheating had been one of her hard lines in the sand, an unforgivable thing, and she'd just crossed it.

Her breath hitched and she struggled in earnest now for the sexy blond to get off of her, to pull out and go away. He'd gotten what he'd wanted, after all: her complete corruption. There was nothing else here for him to conquer, so why wasn't he buggering off and savouring the successful execution of his plans?  

As if sensing her dark thoughts, Draco tiredly raised his head up off of her chest and thrust his hands into her hair, forcing her to still. "Don't. Not yet. Just... wait." He paused to glance up at her, before adding, "Please," to the request.

The use of that one damning word served a purpose opposite to his intention, though. Rather than spending time appreciating the post-coital bliss, Hermione was instead reminded again of the fact that she'd finally done the unthinkable and let this man get under her skin in a rather calamitous way: she'd just willingly betrayed her wedding vows with him. 

Guilt sickened her. Shoving against him with a sob, she tried a second time to get away from the situation. Malfoy's hands gripped her wrists instead, pulling them away from his shoulders and pinning them to the table with mild force. "Stop," he demanded, angered. "Don't ruin this, Granger. It was about time we fucked, and it wasn't wrong."

Hateful tears filled her eyes. "It was wrong! I'm an adulteress now!"

"Weasley's a no good slum. He doesn't deserve you."

"That's no excuse for breaking my vows, or my convictions! Married people shouldn't cheat!"

He didn't even blink when he suggested, "Divorce him, then. Problem solved."

Before she could reply, he tossed down a second gauntlet.

"Leave him before he finally gets up the balls and leaves you for that Brown bint. You know he will. It's only a matter of time. Get the satisfaction of being the one slamming the door on the relationship, rather than the other way around."

Frustrated tears burned hot down her cheeks. Divorcing Ron certainly wasn't a novel idea; she'd toyed with that same plan many times over the past several months. However, leaving her husband came with a whole other set of emotionally charged and painful problems that Draco couldn't understand, and that Hermione didn't feel confident enough in him to share.

"I've considered it, I assure you, and I just... can't," she replied instead, evasive in her reasoning.

"You mean you won't," he contended with a disgusted sneer, pushing off and out of her. "What happened to the Gryffindor swot I knew who was stupidly courageous to a fault?"

Bereft of his wonderful warmth, Hermione suddenly felt hollow inside and out from Malfoy's abrupt withdrawal. 

Despite the voice of reason telling her that it was the smart thing to keep him at arm's length, there was still an untamed, greedy side of her that desired a repeat of what they'd just done sometime in the near future. It was a rare and special person who could so perfectly fulfill a woman's sexual needs, and clearly, Malfoy was that man for her. Merlin, had he made her body sing! She'd never come so hard in her life -- and twice in one session! She'd never done that, either.

_You're one step out of the boat already, Hermione. Why not just jump in with both feet?_

Thinking like that would only lead her somewhere ruinous, she knew. A man with that kind of power over her sensuality would be dangerous to her emotions, too. Besides, she was married, and had taken vows to try even in the face of hardship. And she had nosy, meddling friends, too, who had made it clear where their loyalties would lie in any split between her and Ron.

No, she was stuck in the boat, for better or worse, so it was time to draw her foot out of the exciting sea and row it firmly back to shore, where it ultimately belonged. 

Shagging Draco Malfoy could be no more than a one-off mistake.

As he turned and bent to retrieve his clothes from the worn, wooden floor, she gingerly sat up, wrapped her arms around her breasts to cover them, and closed her legs to protect what little modesty she had left. "That girl... she doesn't exist anymore," she told him. It wasn't something she was proud to admit, but it was the truth. For the last two years, she hadn't much felt like the lioness she'd been as a teenager. Adult life, post-war had whittled away her daring and bravery. 

Sliding his black trousers up and over his hips, Draco turned to argue with her, but abruptly stopped as he caught her gaze skim down his perfectly chiseled, pale body to that part of him she now craved so intensely. He was semi-erect, heavy and thick against his inner thigh, and the sight of him in such a state made her throat close and her heart suddenly pound. She squeezed her legs together, very aware in that moment of his thick, warm cream inside her, keeping her slick and ready for another round.

Good Lord, she wanted him again. How was that possible? Shouldn't she have already had her fill? 

As if reading her mind, her lover gripped his cock and began a slow stroke that had it growing hard again in seconds.

Embarrassed by the obscene little whimpers coming from her throat, she bit her bottom lip, hoping that would stave off the desire to beg him to fuck her again. She cupped a hand over her pussy and rocked back and forth on the creaky table to alleviate the renewing ache growing there. "Please," she whispered again, closing her eyes and praying he'd just go and leave her be. It was sheer torture wondering how it would feel to wrap her lips around that magnificent length and suck, how he would taste sliding down her throat, how he would look as he watched her pleasure him.

"You want it again?" he asked, his voice all the more wicked for its low, lulling cadence.

Through the fringe of her lashes, she glanced at him. "We can't. It's wrong."

His smirk was a naughty slash across his charming face. "When has that ever stopped either of us before?" Dark mischief simmered in his gaze as he dared her to take up his challenge once more.

It was surprising to see him so open and playful. Normally, Draco Malfoy was a cold, impenetrable man to the rest of the world, much like his deceased godfather, Severus Snape. Over the last two years, however, he'd slowly thawed where she was concerned. Truly, there was something beautiful and heady about witnessing the melting of his icy heart over that time. 

Now he was all burning fire and storm-tossed clouds, and she feared she lacked the strength not to be tossed about by his tempest.

To her great disappointment, however, he re-zipped and re-buttoned his trousers after only a few swipes of his fingers, and he buckled his belt back into place with some measure of finality. Retrieving his dark blue, silken shirt next, he buttoned it back up, hiding the rest of his beautiful body from view. He slipped his fancy, expensive-looking leather shoes back on and silently  _Accio_ 'd his wand to his hand from where it lay on the floor.

When he was done, he stalked back over to her, leaning his hands once more against the desk on either side of her nude form. His eyes roamed her from top to bottom, lingering over his favourite parts, and then they settled on her lips.

"We're going to do this again, Granger," he told her with a lazy, satisfied smile, supremely confident in that conclusion. He leaned his mouth against her left ear, letting his warm breath steal over her sensitive skin and whispered, "I'm going to fuck you so much, love, and I'm going to fill you with my come every time. And eventually, when I'm soaked into every ounce of your skin… then you'll leave him."

He pressed a soft kiss to her lobe, another over her thrumming pulse point, one under her jaw, and the final kiss across her lips before pulling away. Hermione had remained perfectly still, refusing to give into the compulsion to melt against him, but when he met her eye, and his smile widened with wicked amusement, she knew she was lost. Her body trembled with renewed need and answered to the heat in his grey gaze.

He was right. She'd never be able to resist doing this with him again. This would destroy what was left of her marriage… and her friendships.

Satisfied that he'd won her capitulation at long last, Draco straightened up, turned, and walked away without a word, leaving her at emotional ground zero to clean up the mess that their clandestine liaison had left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To address some reviewer concerns: Hermione IS a bit OOC in this fic, yes, but for good reason. The fic challenger asked for her to be broken in some way, and rather than physically losing a limb or a sense, or for her to be lasso'd with a phobia or sexual hang-up, I decided to simply make her feel emotionally burnt out. It happens to everyone at least once on the long march through life, and depression can be just as crippling as a physical disorder.
> 
> So, no, this isn't the strong, feisty Hermione from the books (YET). This is one who is still suffering some residual PTSD from the war, and who has since been kicked around by her husband, her closest friends, society in general, and the Ministry where she once worked. She's lost some of her fire and gone into a funk. Things, of course, will change. It IS an affair that is meant to change her life, remember, and you can't keep a good witch like Hermione down for long. Just hang in there!
> 
> Also, this is a MAJOR re-write of this chapter over revision 1.0, because I've decide to alter the story a bit as a result of my own feelings about revision 1.0, as well as the reviews I'd received for it. I think revision 2.0 will correct the things I always felt uncomfortable about in this piece, and if you've read the first version of this fic, I hope you will like the changes, too.

**Late October – Late November, 2006**

 

Draco pursued her relentlessly for the next two months. As good as his word to her that day in the library, every opportunity they found themselves alone in a room or corridor together thereafter, he would seduce her.

Hermione had tried to resist the temptation he presented, going out of her way to avoid him as much as possible, but she simply could not dodge the sneaky snake. Immune to a curfew or designated common room now that they were no longer students, Malfoy had free reign of the castle and its grounds, and he made good use of the terrain to continually cut her off, using back passages and old short-cuts he'd most likely discovered during their sixth year, when he'd sneaked around at all hours to get to and from the Room of Requirement without being caught by Filch. When they weren't teaching, or in staff meetings, or at meals in the Great Hall, he seemed to just magically appear before her, that arrogant, sexy smirk darting the corner of his cheek and making her insides quiver. He'd corner her then, usually someplace where shadow could conceal them, and then he would out-manoeuver her with a well-placed touch, a heated look, or a provocative word... and she would surrender for those brief moments in his arms.

Inevitably, when it was over, she'd feel such guilt that she'd run away, tears in her eyes, vowing to herself it wouldn't happen again. Until the next time, when it did.

No place was sacred.

While the students were down in the Dining Hall eating dinner one evening, she and Malfoy had been up in the third floor corridor's resting nook, his fingers buried deep inside her and driving her to madness, making her beg to come in soft whispers pleaded against his ear.

A few nights later, while the children were all abed and the ghosts down in the dungeons busy with Nearly Headless Nick's Death Day, he'd taken her by hand into the kitchen, pulled her shift down, and licked her nipples while drizzling warm honey all over them.

In the library's Restricted Section one Friday night, after Madam Pince had closed up shop and Filch had finished his rounds, Draco had sneaked her in with him, lifted her onto her usual research table, spread her knees, and removed her knickers to lick her pussy through two orgasms.

He'd shagged her rotten in his Potion's classroom just minutes before he was to teach a class in there, bending her over his desk and thrusting into her from behind to a pace that made her heart pound and her knees shake.

In the Divination classroom just before dawn one Monday morning, surrounded by the sweet scent of burned out incense gone long cold, he'd convinced her to get on her knees and suck him off. She'd swallowed every drop he had to give her, too, just as he'd bid. Then, he'd returned the favour.

One cold night, as the snow was falling and the wind was howling, he even dragged her all the way up to the top of the Slytherin Quidditch stands and there, under a Warming Charm, undressed her completely and convinced her to bounce up and down on him nice and slow, while he palmed her breasts and grabbed her hips. He made sure her legs were spread wide, too, so that he could watch himself sink into her over and over again. She'd come harder than she ever had then, turned on by his watching her wet, slick cunt take him.

Her tears later had nearly frozen on her cheeks as she'd made her way back to her room alone, ashamed and shaking in fear that they may have been seen.

Fortunately, they hadn't been, but that didn't mitigate her guilt.

Despite all her self-recriminations and her resolutions to stop the affair, however, Hermione always, eventually gave in to Draco's persuasiveness. Rationally, she knew that everything they were doing together was on every conceivable level wrong, and yet when he was inside her, his lips pressed to hers, their bodies tangled together, it all felt so remarkably right.

* * *

 

**Early December, 2006**

 

One blustery afternoon, in a dimly-lit corridor in the dungeon, after she and Malfoy had together dressed down and then dismissed two students who'd been caught fighting in the hallway, Draco proved to Hermione that running from him was no longer an option.

A bare two steps was all she'd managed before he'd caught her by the wrist, hauled her back, and then pressed her into the wall. Before she could open her mouth to berate him, her lips were being plundered by the hungriest kiss she'd yet experienced.

"Mmph, Merlin!" she gasped as Draco smoothed her arms up over her head and held her wrists captive with one hand. "We can't–"

"Can," he countered, latching onto her throat and nibbling.

"Shouldn't–"

"Will."

Her long, Victorian-style dress—a fashion she'd taken to rebelliously wearing the last few days to discourage Draco's interest—was yanked to her waist.

"Won't," she insisted, although even to her ears, her denial sounded half-hearted. She clamped her thighs together anyways, partially out of sheer stubbornness and partially to keep his fingers from discovering her shamefully wet core.

He growled, and the sound shot straight to into the heart of her pussy, causing it to spasm in response.

"God, no, no, no," she mewled, but the protest was merely a front and they both knew it. The truth was she wanted this, wanted  _him_ , no matter the place or time. Malfoy had become her shameful addiction, and even knowing they could be caught fraternizing and she could lose her job for it didn't seem to matter. When they were like this, locked together from head-to-toe and wanting each other with such equal desperation, the rest of the world fell away.

He sucked particularly hard over her throat's pulse, and her knees fell apart. She was that easy, opening right up for him, just as he'd anticipated.

"That's it, Granger." His hand reached under the elastic of her knickers. "Give in to me again."

"Please, this isn't a good idea," she whimpered as Draco shoved his thigh between her legs, widening them. She opened her mouth to convince him to stop, but then his fingers were sliding through her slick heat, stroking gently over her clit, and she lost all coherent thought.

"It's a perfect idea," he purred as her body went totally loose and she surrendered to his seduction once more. "That's my girl. Let me give you this." He thrust two fingers up inside her while his thumb ran circles over her clit, and the feelings he drew from her were sinful and wrong... and like nothing else in the world Hermione had ever known.

His name slipped from her lips, somewhere between a moan and a plea.

"Merlin, Granger, you're  _so wet_ ," he groaned and shuddered in echo of her body's response to his touches.

Her limbs seemed to have a will of their own as they wrapped around him, drawing him even closer. "Don't stop," she begged now, rolling her hips to meet his hand's rhythm. "More, yes!"

He turned his head, pressed his mouth to hers, and murmured all sorts of lovely and wicked things to her—words that charmed her soul, binding it ever tighter to his, making it impossible for her to continue to believe that what they were doing, what they had together was merely sexual in nature.

"This is all for me, isn't it, love?" he whispered between kisses. "No one else makes you feel this good, do they, Hermione? No one else satisfies you like I do. Admit it: you want me, you want this. You want  _us_."

He began fucking her with his fingers fast and hard, and Hermione tossed her head back into the ancient stone behind her and shook as her body climbed higher and higher, preparing to throw her into a powerful climax.

"You want to come, don't you, love? Come for  _me_ ," he pressed, breathing hot and hard against the sensitive skin of her throat, excited by her feverish, frantic state. "Say it, Granger. Say it and I'll give you what you really want."

Despite his impassioned appeal, Hermione could not speak the words her lover sought from her. In truth, she could barely breathe, so consumed was she with the feral, clawing need that he'd awoken within her blood. Her whole body was on fire, as if a dragon had taken up space under her skin, roaring and breathing flame, burning her up from the inside-out as Draco continued to thrill and caress her pussy with perfectly timed strokes.

There was a moment's respite as he shifted his hand so he was able to curl his fingers to tease her even more. A plea escaped her mouth, but that was all she could manage.

"Say what I want to hear, Hermione," he coaxed, suckling on her dainty earlobe. "It's so easy. Just say you're mine, and I'll give you anything you want."

She dug her nails into his shoulders and held on tight as he hit the spot within her guaranteed to bring her screaming, terrified now of where this end game would take her emotions this time. "Please!" she cried instead as she hurtled towards the precipice. "Please, Draco!"

_Please take all this hurt from me._

_Please care for me._

_Please don't let this all be a game to you._

_Please remind me of who I once was._

_Please fall for me, so I won't be alone in this feeling._

"Please," she sobbed into his shoulder. "Draco!"

It was enough of a capitulation for him. He withdrew his fingers from the depths of her body and scrabbled to undo his belt and trousers. Shoving them down, he pulled her into his arms and lifted her up the wall.

His first thrust buried him to the hilt and they both moaned loudly at the feel of coming together again.

He looked down at where they were joined. "Bloody hell, but I love this view of us."

He fucked her then against the wall in the maze of the dungeons, where it was possible anyone could come across them. They went at it hard and he took her with full, deep strokes, his hips pistoning fast up into her to bring them both to an explosive orgasm as quickly as possible. The heavy fabric of Hermione's dress fell down between them in the frenzy of their love-making to secrete their dishonorable affair from all eyes, as if hiding it from view could alter the fact that he was, at that moment, pumping his seed deep inside her with a muffled roar into her robes.

Hermione followed him over a beat later when he gasped her name, thrusting hard one last time to marry them fully together. Her insides trembled, milking his cock of every last drop of its essence as her release shook her from head to toe, making her feel more emotionally vulnerable than she'd ever felt in her life.

In the aftermath, as weak as day-old kittens, they held onto each other and used the wall as leverage to keep them both from collapsing onto the floor in a sweaty pile.

Long minutes passed before sanity and strength both returned.

The guilt took hold of her first thing, making her belly feel both hollow and heavy at the same time.

Logically, she knew she shouldn't be enjoying this. Yes, she'd had time to consider the situation and in all honesty, she did feel a bit justified in enjoying sex with another man, specifically with Malfoy, and especially after everything Ron had said and done to her throughout the course of their marriage. However, the bottom line was having an affair was wrong. If this... relationship... between her and Draco was going to continue, she needed to end things with her husband first.

But could she do it? She'd lose not just Ron in the trade-off, but most likely the entire Weasley clan, as well as Harry, who would most likely stick by his best male friend in any conflict, as he'd done in the past. And did she really have the strength to battle things out with her husband in court, and to survive the vicious gossip sure to follow in the newspapers?

More importantly, what if she did divorce Ron only for Malfoy to arbitrarily decide that he'd had enough fooling about with her and told her to hit the road? She was quite sure  _that_  would completely break her, because the truth was, she'd let Draco in and there was no taking that back for someone like her. His dragon's fire would burn her to a crisp, if things didn't work out between them.

Far above, the sound of the bell tolling the hour rang out, reminding Hermione that classes would be letting out at any moment. The fear of being caught once more took over. "Please let me down," she requested, pushing against Draco's chest and wiggling to be free of him.

Against her shoulder, her lover sighed, and then he reluctantly let her down and held her steady until her knees had stopped knocking together and she was able to stand well enough on her own. Quickly, she righted her clothing.

What had she been thinking doing such a thing out in the open? What if someone had seen? She could have been forced out of this job, too!

By the time she'd turned back to Malfoy, his clothing had been rearranged and his hair tidied. His gaze was angled down the corridor, and he was frowning. "I suppose this is the part where you feel such guilt that you swear it'll never happen again, slap me, and walk away?" he said. His lips twisted with all the bitterness of tasting sour lemons. "Let me save you the trouble. I'll go first."

Hermione knew she should let him walk away, pretend the whole awkward, sordid affair had never happened, and stick to her vow that it never would again. That would have been the best thing to do for everyone involved. But if there was one thing she knew she excelled at, it was 'messy'. Her whole life had been one giant proving ground for difficult situations. In fact, it might even be said she sought out the painful and problematic, either because she was incredibly brave or stupendously mad.

The odds were a little bit of both, actually.

So, to say it was not as much a surprise to her as it was to him when she reached out and grabbed him this time was no exaggeration.

"Wait."

Clearly bewildered by her change of tactics and curious as to why, Draco paused, relenting to her request.

Swallowing her fear, she whispered the truth that had lain in her heart for the past few weeks. "I... I do want you."

He went unnaturally still at that, waiting for her to finish.

"It's wrong, because I'm married, but... you're right. I want you. I won't lie about that anymore. I can't. You... you're too much inside me now."

She tapped the area over her heart, too frightened to actually admit that she was falling in love with him.

Malfoy's tall frame jerked as if he'd been struck hard in the chest, and a whistle of drawn breath as sharp as a hiss escaped from between his lips, as if he'd been physically burned by her words. Rather than retreat, however, as she'd anticipated he might, he bent and scooped her up into his arms instead. She was pinned once more against the wall and Draco was kissing her again like it was the end of days. His trembling sigh of relief was loud to her ears.

Everything changed between them after that.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Mid-December, 2006**

 

Malfoy's seduction took on a new tone after that afternoon in the Slytherin dungeon hallway. Rather than the desperate and rough coupling she and he had engaged in for the last two months, the sex became something a little more tender, a little less anxious, and a lot more sure of the direction it was taking.

—At least insofar as Draco was concerned, anyway. He seemed to have taken her admission of the feelings she was harbouring for him as a sign that he'd won some kind of silent tug-of-war with her, and could now bask in the victory. For Hermione, however, she'd never felt so uneasy. Every day she struggled with gnawing doubt about the relationship, worried she was investing too much feeling and would eventually end up the one on the receiving end of a broken heart. She'd only once ever been so swept off her feet by a man, and that had been in the very beginning of her relationship with Ron.

Reminded of how badly  _that_  had turned out only made her more anxious.

Not only had she lost the ability to trust another person with her heart, thanks to Ron's affair with Lavender Brown, but she'd also been left holding the short end of the stick in terms of her career. Allowing her husband, his family, and their friends bully her into resigning her position within the Ministry, all for the sake of some archaic laws disallowing married couples to work together, had created a black hole of resentment within her, that to this day continued to fester. Constantly, she questioned why she'd been the one required to make the sacrifice and why he hadn't even offered to do so, especially considering her pay had been quite a bit more than Ron had brought in.

Would it be the same at Hogwarts, if she and Draco were found out? Would she again be forced out of a job she loved? The idea made her positively nauseated.

The occasional sly looks from Minerva weren't helping, of course. The old witch had begun watching her in a way that said the Headmistress might know more than she was letting on about Hermione's extra-curricular activities with a certain blond Potions professor. She could almost feel the woman's eyes on her everywhere she went! It was truly unnerving.

Fearing a repeat of her previous employment termination, she began to be more conscientious of her behaviour around Malfoy in public. She kept her interactions with him strictly professional when others were around, and did her best not to watch him walk away, especially when he wasn't wearing his robes and she had a fantastic view of his arse.

Her resolve to play it cool proved extremely challenging, though, as she seemed to be acutely aware of her lover's every move when they were in the same room together. As a woman with an honest heart, she'd always found it difficult to mask her emotions, and so it began to feel as if the truth of her affair with Malfoy flashed across her forehead in big neon letters whenever he so much as glanced in her direction. Consequently, her paranoia steadily mounted, especially when she noted the portraits began whispering behind their hands whenever she and Draco walked by.

Also, it was difficult to hold back the green-eyed monster of jealousy when the attractive, young Helen Merrythought—granddaughter of Hogwarts' former Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, Galatea Merrythought, and currently holder of that same position—sat so close to Malfoy in the dining hall and in staff meetings to flirt with him. True, he never encouraged Helen, but he didn't  _dis_ courage her, either, and many times, Hermione had been forced to leave the room as her temper flared out of control and her wand hand shook to hex the witch.

All those repressed, heightened emotions made Hermione jittery, on edge. Her sleep began to suffer, which adversely affected her ability to concentrate. In class, she occasionally lost track of her point while in the middle of a lecture and had to refer back to her notes. Scared the Headmistress would call her up any day and fire her for incompetence, she began drinking the random Memory potion here and there, despite the fact doing so made her sick to her stomach. To counter the side-effects of that, she stopped eating any kind of fish product (which tended to really roil her up), and as a result, she became sensitive to the oily, greasy smell of the stuff and couldn't be around it.

Needless to say, by the time the testing before Christmas break rolled around, Hermione was a terrible fright. Still, she did manage to muscle through proctoring three days of tests with only the need for Cooling charms. That, in itself, had been quite the feat.

On the evening of the last day of the term, she let out a heavy, relieved sigh and sat down next to Neville, who'd taken up the post of Herbology Professor this year, to enjoy the Christmas feast in the Great Hall.

"Looking forward to going home?" her friend asked as he cut into his slice of pork roast with the apple stuffing.

"For the break, yes," she admitted. "I need a bit of a rest."

The fact was, she was dreading that she'd be leaving on the train tomorrow to meet up with Ron for a stay at the Burrow, where they were to spend Christmas this year. She'd have much preferred to accompany her memory-restored parents on their Caribbean cruise, but it was their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary trip and she didn't want to intrude (besides, the last thing she wanted right then was to be forced into close quarters with her husband on a boat trip whose launch theme was "Rekindling the Romance").

However, she really did need the break from teaching and from the anxiety she felt surrounding her affair, and even the distraction offered by a Weasley-packed Burrow was better than staying behind, especially as Draco wouldn't be there to entertain her (he'd planned to go home to Malfoy Manor to be with his parents, who had just come off of their post-war house-arrest sentencing).

That wasn't to say she wouldn't miss Draco or his attentions, because she most certainly would, but she would also like to not have to keep them a secret, and not have to worry about what their relationship's revelation would mean for her life, both personally and professionally.

Her friend glanced sideways at her, shuffling a short stack of almond green beans around on his plate. "I wasn't going to say anything, but you've looked a bit unwell the past few weeks, 'Mione. Is everything alright?"

"Fine," she lied. "Perfectly fine. How are you? How's the wooing of Hannah Abbot going?"

As Neville talked about the Christmas shopping date he and the proprietess of the Leaky Cauldron had gone on the weekend before last, Hermione tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but as she split a home-baked roll in half and added a liberal slab of salted butter to it, the glint of the thin, gold band encircling her left ring finger abruptly caught her attention… and suddenly, she was focussing on it, obsessing over its dull and dented surface, finding the metaphor that she and the ring were as one. They were both covered in scratches, in desperate need of repair.

What had happened to her? She'd been so full of courage once, unafraid of taking on the world's curses and ills.

Of course, that had been before her husband had begun working full-time at the Ministry with Lavender Brown. Before Hermione had begun to fear losing him and the childish dream she'd built up around him.

Before she'd learned how to lie really well…

Overall, Ron Weasley had been a loyal, fun, and generally romantic boyfriend. Yes, on occasion he could be a thoughtless pile of poo, too, but by-and-large he hadn't been a bad partner in the early days of their relationship. He'd been supportive of her sitting her N.E.W.T.s, and of her application to the Department of Magical Creatures, and then of her transfer to Magical Law Enforcement to join the Defence council, where she'd finally found a good home for her interests and talents. They'd gone on dates, enjoyed sunsets together, and made love often enough to sate both of their needs without interrupting their work schedules.

Two years later, her former Gryffindor roommate had begun working in the Auror's Office as a secretary, and Ron had started having lunch with his ex-girlfriend, mainly on Thursdays, when Hermione was in meetings all afternoon. When confronted on these mini-dates, he'd brushed off her concerns, reminding Hermione that she still kept in contact with Viktor Krum and reiterating that a friendship with Brown would not interfere with his love for her. The lunches continued, and it followed thereafter that Brown was seen hanging around Ron's desk more than would be considered appropriate by most, wearing low-cut blouses and high-cut skirts.

Over the next several months, Hermione fought against her jealous mistrust of the situation, which warred with her desire to believe in her committed boyfriend. It put a strain their relationship.

When the rumours began circulating half-way through the year that things weren't perfect between the 'Golden Duo', as the papers had dubbed her and Ron, that's when Hermione's self-esteem began to take a serious nose-dive.

In truth, she'd always felt inadequate when it came to keeping the attention of the opposite sex. As a woman with a fierce intellectual curiosity, a precise wand aim, and a rather sizable vocabulary, she knew she was considered intimidating to most men. That she was also rather argumentative and opinionated, too, and had a set of personal goals that included someday running for Minister of Magic was a decided turn-off for weaker-willed guys, according to both Harry and Ron. In terms of dress and appearance, it was a fact that Hermione was more the casual type and not very fashion-oriented. She tended to wear her hair up in the same bun or tight ponytail every day, painted on very little-to-no make-up, and wore conservative trouser suits to work. She owned precisely one pair of black heels, a single black dress that she wore to every function, and some costume jewellery pieces to spice up her outfits. Honestly, the nicest things in her wardrobe were the various lingerie pieces she'd gotten for her bridal shower. Clothes, she'd always felt, did not make the person; it was their deeds and ideas that mattered. 

Lavender Brown, on the other hand, had apparently no interest in pursuing anything meaningful other than married men. Her ambitions had always run, even back during their Hogwarts days, towards the spiteful and intentional breaking up of the happy relationships of others, and the witch relied primarily upon her physical attributes to achieve those aims. In that department, the woman reigned supreme, though, as she was not just tall, but she was well-proportioned and quite lovely, too, having been gifted by the gods with the three 'b's'—blonde hair, beauty, and huge breasts. 

In a direct comparison between them, Hermione knew she was considered the frumpy one, while Lavender was 'fun'. Serious, sincere, and studious were apparently not sexy attributes.

Apparently, neither was stress eating, for within a few, short months, Hermione had added a stone and a half to her weight and an inch or two to her waist... and Ron had commented on that fact with some disapproval, further shaking her confidence. The additional fat gain, she'd despaired, had only widened the gap between her and Ms. 'Bloody Perfect' Brown.

One day in early March, a picture in the gossip section of the  _Daily Prophet_  featured Ron and Lavender leaving the Ministry lift together, his hand resting on the small of her back. The caption above read, " _Golden Duo Split Inevitable? Brown Moves Into Position_ ". The piece moved Hermione to tears as she recognised the truth of it.

Knowing it was only a matter of time before she lost Ron in the battle for his affections, she concocted a mad, desperate, and poorly-conceived plan that very afternoon: she exaggerated the possibility that she might be pregnant, knowing Ron was the type of man who would want to do the right thing by a child. It was an underhanded, despicable tactic, and in hindsight, Hermione deeply regretted the lie now. Yet, at the time, it had worked and she had felt an arrogant satisfaction in knowing Lavender Brown had lost out to her for a second time.

She and Ron had married in a small, quick ceremony at the Burrow two weeks later, and a week after that, Hermione's period had 'miraculously' appeared. Her pregnancy had been dubbed a false alarm, but by then, Ron didn't seem to mind that he'd gotten hitched over a mistake. The newlyweds were too deliriously happy enjoying the act of honeymooning to care.

What goes around, comes around.

In retrospect, Hermione now understood that getting married to Ron had been the worst mistake of her life. If only she had a Time-Turner and could go back to warn her past self of the folly.

Aside from the fact Brown continued to flirt with Ron despite his newly married status, there had also been the contention of that buggering archaic law about husbands and wives not being allowed to work in the same Ministry Department together. Unmarried family members could continue to be employed together, as could in-laws, best friends, former classmates, ex's, people casually dating, and neighbors. Husbands and wives as co-workers, however, were considered a conflict of interest, for a reason Hermione had never been able to properly discern.

Needless to say, the edict had caused much strife between the newly bound couple. There had been one particular row between them that had ended with a coffee mug smashed and Hermione in tears.

Feeling guilty for the deceit that had been responsible for the pickle they'd found themselves in, and because it was naturally her way to sacrifice for those she loved, and because she knew if she didn't, Ron's attitude had made it clear that he'd resent her for the rest of their married life together, Hermione had eventually given in to his demand that she be the one to leave the M.L.E.

Giving up her chosen career had been hard, though. It had really smothered her inner fire to be so thoroughly defeated by the very system she'd believed would provide equality and justice to all, and especially after having worked so hard to get into a position of power to affect change and make lives better.

Word having gotten around, a month later she'd received an owl from Professor McGonagall asking her to consider the post of Charms instructor at Hogwarts, since Professor Flitwick was finally retiring.

Three weeks after that, and only after great deliberation and discussion with her new husband, she'd boarded the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9¾, embarking upon a new career adventure, determined to make the best of her situation.

Although Charms was not the ideal position for someone of Hermione's temperament, it proved to be an adequate match for her talents, and she had to admit that it was fun to return to her secondary home. The only dark cloud in her sky was that she and Ron were separated for most of the year. However, with his Auror schedule as busy as it was, he was frequently out in the field anyway, sometimes undercover for a few weeks at a time, so the separation would have occurred regardless. At least, that's how she'd consoled herself during the long, dark winter nights and the yearning for mischief that followed the arrival of spring.

The next school year, Draco Malfoy had accepted the post as Potions Master when Horace Slughorn had retired. To everyone's surprise, even her own, she and Malfoy had behaved civilly towards each other, even striking up something of a tentative friendship.

No one had been more astonished than her the first time Malfoy had outright flirted with her. She hadn't known how to react, honestly, and had laughed it off... until it happened a second and a third time, and thereafter became a frequent occurrence. Incrementally, his words began carrying dangerous, seductive innuendo, his looks lingered on parts of her they shouldn't, and once he'd even dared to use the excuse of wiping something from the corner of her mouth to caress her lips with the pad of his thumb.

She'd shied away from his attentions, though, making it clear by dodging him at every chance that she wasn't interested in his invitation to cheat. She was, after all, married to the man she'd dreamed of being wife to since she'd been twelve, and she'd had no intention of buggering that up.

And then her worst fears had been realised, and her whole world had turn on its head...

It had been unseasonably warm for April, and for once, Hermione had finished all her self-assigned tasks. Feeling the rush of spring through her blood, she'd decided to take the opportunity to surprise Ron with a visit. With the fantasy of seducing her husband in a locked conference room and then persuading him to agree to skive off the rest of his day with her, she'd taken a shower, shaved her legs, put on her best lingerie set, and glamoured her hair into behaving. Then, she'd headed off for the staff's private-use Floo in the Faculty Lounge to hop a ride to the Ministry.

She'd arrived at Ron's desk half an hour later, only to find him missing.

The giant staff clock that took up one whole wall in the Auror's Main Office resembled the Weasley's own family clock at the Burrow, and at that time, it had indicated that her wayward husband was somewhere "on the premises". Determined to track down Ron and seduce him into starting that family they'd discussed during the previous Christmas break, Hermione had set out on a search of the building. She'd headed back towards the lifts with a determined stride, loosening the top two buttons of her blouse just in case she ran into Ron along the way.

By pure chance, passing by an old fashioned coat closet, she'd heard a heavy thumping noise, followed by a voice crying out in pained protest. Suspicious, she'd approached the door with her wand in hand, reminding herself that one never knew what strangeness lurked within the shadows of the Ministry.

Gripping the brass doorknob, she'd turned it and pulled the door open fast, a hex ready upon her lips. It turned out the very man she'd been searching for had been inside the closet... with his pants around his ankles and his cock sunk deep into his ex-girlfriend.

Brown, naturally, had smirked in triumph the moment she'd recognised her rival standing in the doorway.

Hermione must have made some sort of sound of distress at that point, because Ron's head had suddenly swung in her direction. When his eyes had registered the fact of her presence and that not only had he been caught in the act of fucking a woman who wasn't his wife, but that it had been said wife who'd done the catching, he went stone still.

When revisiting that exact moment in her mind later, Hermione's attention would linger over the stupid expression on her husband's face and come to realise that he'd  _really, truly_  believed he could get away with carrying on an affair with a co-worker, because in his mind, the act itself had been sanctioned already by those in authority—specifically, the Ministry. There were, according to his bosses, no actual sanctions against lovers working together, only  _married_  ones, and somehow, that mandate had translated in Ron's puny, sexist brain as permission to engage in sexual relations with Lavender. No ring, no foul.

The whole situation had been, in her opinion, rubber stamped by cosmic irony: she'd tricked Ron into marriage, and that lie had created a situation in which she'd been forced to take a job far away, which had strained her new marriage and set-up the scene for another woman to swoop in and pick up the slack.

Her lies had set in motion the death of the one relationship she'd wanted for half her life. Ron's foolishness had merely been the dirt on their grave.

Now, in hindsight, Hermione recognised how very unfair she'd been on herself to even think such ridiculousness. She wasn't responsible for her husband's puerile decision to fuck another woman. He'd succumbed to that temptation all on his own, and assigning the blame to herself for his unwillingness and inability to be a decent man and honour the vows he'd given her on their wedding day was  _his_  cross to bear. That she'd shouldered that betrayal had come from her guilt over tricking him into marriage, but in reality, he'd destroyed their marriage the moment he'd decided to take innocent flirting to another level with Lavender Brown.

At the time, though, karma's brutal lashing had hurt too much for Hermione to rationally consider the situation. Instead, she'd reacted in the only manner she could think of right then to avoid a scandal: quietly, she'd closed the closet door, took the lift back up to the Ministry's lobby, and Floo'd back to Hogwarts.

Hours later, while sitting at the staff dining table in the Great Hall, surrounded by students, ghosts, and her professional colleagues, the shock had finally worn off.

Worst. Place. Possible.

Of course.

She'd been dabbing her mouth after swallowing a mouthful of buttered peas, and that moment had reminded her of the many times in the past she'd nagged Ron to wipe his chin while eating... and  _that_  rather insignificant thought triggered a humiliating breakdown, complete with wailing into her napkin.

Minerva had kindly and quickly mothered her away, down into the privacy of the nearby Trophy Room, and there, in a room filled with sparkly gold chalices and smelling of lemon polish, Hermione had confessed all her marital sins. She'd spilled her guts about her whole sordid relationship with Ronald Weasley to her mentor.

Overall, that hour of blubbering had probably been one of the most cathartic she'd ever had, especially as afterwards, Minerva had comforted her and told her she was not to blame for, "Mister Weasley's serious lack of judgment."

A few days after "the incident", Ron appeared in her private chambers at Hogwarts with a handful of flowers and a pack of apologies. The damage had been done by then, however, and Hermione had simply asked him for a divorce. She'd refused to stay with an unfaithful man, regardless of her still-lingering feelings for him. The trust in their marriage and in their love had been broken, and there was no fixing that.

Ron had refused, of course, and he'd stormed off in a huff, swearing Hermione would change her mind.

The day after that, Harry and Ginny had appeared at her door to try to "talk sense" into her.

In what would come as an even bigger blow to her than Ron's infidelity, her two other best friends turned out to be less than sympathetic to her side of the predicament; they'd immediately launched a campaign to get her to stay with the unfaithful Ron. Disgusted by their attempts to sugarcoat his cheating as 'sowing his final oats', she'd firmly asked them to leave and to keep their noses out of it.

Like a bad case of Leprechaun Lesions, however, the two had refused to go away. Ginny had even blown up at Hermione, accusing her of not truly loving Ron, since she was "giving up on him". To which Hermione had icily responded that Ron had given up on her "by bedding the Brown wench".

Harry then took up the cause, implying in a roundabout way that what had happened had been as a direct result of Hermione's absence from the home. Apparently, leaving Ron for months at a time to pursue her career (and ignoring the fact  _his_  career often took him away for weeks or months at a time, too), was in Harry's opinion, the root of the evil, and the reason Ron felt it necessary to stray.

"A man has needs," he'd said, regurgitating the age-old, misogynistic cliche.

The two spent hours whittling away at what was left of Hermione's self-esteem, painting the picture of the infidelity in such a way that she actually began considering it as forgivable. Her own conscience, after all, nagged at her along similar lines, reminding her again of her falseness, and causing her to question why she wasn't being more lenient on Ron for this one mistake, when she'd made one against him, too.

In the end, she'd mistakenly relented to the peer pressure, realising she would lose much more than just her marriage were she to dissolve things between her and Ron. Harry and Ginny, and all the Weasleys by default, were part of the marital package, and if she wanted to preserve those vital relationships, she would have to acquiesce to keeping her idiot husband.

So, now here she was, staring at her ruined gold wedding band and thinking about her decayed marriage, and wondering how it had all come to this point. She was married to her former best friend, a man she now greatly disliked, because she was afraid of what other losses she'd incur if she dumped him, and she was having an affair with a man whom she had previously despised, but was now more than a little in love with, despite the fact he was her co-worker and their affair was morally wrong.

Could life get any more convoluted and confusing?

"So, should I?" Neville asked her, jolting Hermione out of her inner musings.

Her friend was staring at her with a nervous kind of anticipation as to her judgement call on whatever important issue he'd been talking to her about. Feeling guilty for not paying attention, haunted by her own demons, she quickly groped for an answer that wouldn't insult Neville further by cluing him into the fact that she'd been too self-absorbed to care about his problems.

"Um... what I think is... well, it's not important what I believe you should or shouldn't do, but what  _you_  believe is the right path for you to take," she said, going with the typical psychiatrist's pat response. "It's better to come to a determination on your own, because it empowers you to act according to your own inner moral code."

There, that sounded interested enough, if a bit vague.

Neville grinned at that. "Okay, then the last piece of pumpkin pie is mine, and I won't feel guilty about taking it. Thanks!"

Hermione's fork speared his before he could make a reach for the pie wedge in question from the plate in the middle of the table. "Touch it and lose the hand."

Her friend laughed at her. "That's what I thought."

At least she had the grace to blush as she consumed every bite of her favourite pie... and then looked around for seconds.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried... really, honestly tried to make Theodore Nott an unlikable character for this revision of the fic, as the Fic Challenger originally asked, but... I just can't do it. I like him too much. I'm sorry, WhiteOwl, but this is the first of your challenge requirements I'm definitely changing in revision 2.0!

After the meal, while the Head Girl, Head Boy, and Prefects led the students back to their common rooms, all the teachers and miscellaneous members of the staff retired to the Faculty Room to exchange gifts, per the long-standing tradition of celebrating the Yuletide.

On the walk from the Great Hall, Hermione lingered behind the others and when she was sure no one else was watching, she stared at her old wedding band, debating one last time whether or not to go through with giving Draco her intended Christmas present for him or not.

If she did, her marriage would be officially over, at least as far as she was concerned. Crossing the line between being the one chased to becoming the huntress, to stepping up and willingly seducing Draco, would erase any chance she might still have of going back and fixing things with Ron.

If she didn't do this, if she didn't give the possibility of finding real, lasting love with Draco a shot, she knew she'd regret it forever.

Go forward... or go back.

No, there was no going backwards, no do-overs, and definitely no backing down. It was all or nothing in this life. If anything had taught her that, it had been the war.

She slipped the ring off her finger and determined never to wear it again.

Tomorrow, she decided, when she went to the Burrow and saw Ron, she would ask for a divorce. If doing so meant she'd lose Harry and Ginny and the Weasleys in the trade-off, then so be it. She would not longer be held an emotional hostage to a situation that made her unhappy. It was time to reclaim her spirit and to boldly step forward into a new life.

In the Faculty Room, pumpkin juice was already being passed around by Rolanda. Hermione took up a glass with the others and gave a hearty, "Cheers!" after the customary toast by Minerva.

Once the Yule blessings were over, everyone set about passing out their presents for their Secret Gift Exchange partners. Hermione's recipient this year had been Neville, so to him she gave a Yellow and Purple Lady Slipper, which she'd been able to successfully cultivate in her home planter using magic (as the flower itself was impossible to propagate otherwise and grew only in one place in the whole world otherwise: a golf course in Lancashire). His ear-to-ear grin and excited babbling on about it to everyone in the room told her he was extremely pleased by the gift, much to her delight.

Septima Vector had been the one to draw Hermione's name from the gift exchange hat, and from her, Hermione received an Arithmancy chart that mathematically predicted, using numerology, the next year of her life for her. To her surprise, she noted a series of extreme number clusters indicating change beginning, oddly enough, that very night and continuing all the way into next December, with a series of serious correlative spikes occurring on various dates throughout that time frame. "It's wonderful!" she exclaimed, holding the parchment up to the light. "You've even included charts made from the Planes of Expression Numbers, Soul Urge Number, and Inner Dream Numbers!" She rolled it back up with care and turned to her former professor-not colleague. "Thank you so much, Septima!"

The woman gave her a mysterious smile. "You're quite welcome, Hermione. I'm excited for you for this next year. It looks to be life-altering."

"Let's hope it's all good change," Hagrid said, sidling up to them, handing them both a small sprig of freshly cut mistletoe. "Here ya go, ladies. Sumthin' small fer ya ta decorate yer hats. Merry Christmas ter ya!"

Both women insisted upon using their mistletoe to give Hagrid their first Christmas kisses on his cherry, red cheeks.

An hour into the festivities, most of Hermione's co-workers were singing carols in warbling, out-of-pitch voices or gaily dancing to rousing Scottish and Irish jigs played on the nearby phonograph. They cut loose, even going so far as to chuck their hats into the corner and raise their heels off the floor, clunking and clapping and swinging 'round and 'round in time to the music. Shrill, unrestrained laughter echoed off the tall stone ceiling above their heads.

From the sidelines, nursing a cup of warm, spiced tea, Hermione watched the gaiety with some amusement. She was surprised by how rowdy her colleagues had become once the students were all abed. Who would have thought anyone could get Bathsheba Babbling to hang off the chandelier like that, or that Madam Pince, their elderly Librarian who had well-earned the nickname, "Missus Shushy", could have a laugh loud enough to blow out one's eardrums? It was truly astonishing.

It wasn't until Hermione had finished her tea and taken a sip of the eggnog from the party punch bowl, however, that she realised what had happened to turn her co-workers into a bunch of zoo monkeys: some prankster had spiked the drink with a 'moste potente potion', indeed—Kessler's Defiant Firewhisky. The smoky dragon-like burn of it across the tongue was quite distinctive; Hermione recalled it well while celebrating post-Final Battle at the Three Broomsticks... and the raging hangover it had left her with the next day.

She spit the concoction back into her glass, and glanced around for the possible culprit.

Her 'rascal radar' still as sharp as ever, her eyes alighted almost immediately upon Theodore Nott in the corner. The silent, slippery Transfiguration professor watched the proceedings from a safe distance, the same as she, but with a dark smirk that would have done the Grinch proud. When she caught his attention across the room, she tilted an eyebrow at him in silent questioning. His slow, answering grin was like that of an evil Cheshire Cat's—all white teeth and wicked.

Bloody miscreant.

Quickly, she set her cup down and didn't touch it again. The combination of alcohol and frothy, thick egg-and-cream product had made her slightly queasy anyway, especially after the delicious, but somewhat greasy dinner they'd just eaten. Knowing Nott had done something to it made her doubly suspicious of being anywhere near it.

She scanned the room looking for Draco, but he was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, Helena Merrythought was in the thick of the dancing, apparently having consumed enough eggnog to set her feet into a frenzy, so Hermione's green-eyed monster stayed firmly tucked away for the now. All of the other members of the staff seemed to be accounted for, too, so perhaps her lover was simply in the loo or had some last minute house duties to supervise. He  _was_  the head of Slytherin, having taken over that duty from Horace Slughorn as well, and this year's crop turned out to be as devilish to handle as Fred and George Weasley once had.

Just as she was about to go look for Draco, a small, brown box tied with a white satin bow unexpectedly popped into existence before her very eyes, startling her and bringing her up short. It floated, suspended in the air by a Levitation charm, as if waiting for her to claim it.

Caught flat-footed by the surprise, it took a moment longer to recognise that the object before her was not intended as a threat, but rather as a gift... a plainly wrapped one, to be sure, but intriguing all the more for it. When that fact sank in, she relaxed.

"Happy Christmas, Granger."

Draco's hushed, tender wish was carried along a warm, soft current of air that brushed her sensitive lobe as he bent his mouth to her ear. It left her shivering with desire.

"Happy Christmas, Draco," she offered him, turning her head so he would hear.

"For you," he offered, indicating the box with an elegant wave of his hand before her.

She glanced back at the present, and it struck her then that it was small enough to hold only a few obvious things, most of which were in the category of jewellery. He hadn't bought her something expensive, had he?

With shaky fingers, she took the gift, plucking it out of the air, and then turned around so they were facing each other, her back to the others. Pulling the bow on the ribbon, she tucked it into her robe pocket for safekeeping and opened the box, anticipation making her fingers tremble.

"Oh... oh, my," she gasped in awe as the lid came off at last.

Nestled among a cloud of sparkling white silk were a pair of exquisite, button-shaped sapphire earrings set in some sort of white metal—platinum, she guessed. Each stone must have weighed at least five carats, and was haloed by a ring of smaller diamonds. The colour of the sapphires was her favourite: the traditional royal blue of her birth stone, reminding her of a Maxfield Parrish skyline or the fine smalt glaze on ancient Asian porcelain. The tone of the blue was vivid, though, not matte or dull, and the diamonds were clear, as white as the purest ice. Every facet glimmered in the flickering candlelight, the gleam both hypnotising and calming.

No man had ever given her jewellery before; she'd bought her own wedding band, and had never received an engagement ring, given how quickly she and Ron had rushed their nuptials.

"They're… positively stunning. I love them." She swallowed and closed her eyes, speaking from her heart when she simply said, "Thank you  _so_  much."

"Want help putting them in later? There's a mirror in my room."

He was asking her to leave the party with him, to accompany him back to his chambers for the first time.

"Yes, I'd like that very much." Nervously, she tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "I have a gift for you, too, but‒" She leaned forward, careful to speak softly so the others wouldn't hear. "‒you'll have to wait until we're alone to unwrap it." She slyly peeled back the edge of her neckline to give him a peek of her lingerie strap underneath. The thin, green spaghetti tie winked at him for only a second or two, before she quickly covered it back up.

Draco's gaze grew heated. "Green satin, for me?"

"And black lace."

He licked his lips. "Skipping 'nice' and going right for the 'naughty' list this year, then?"

She stared up at him through heavy, hooded lids. "That was the plan, yes."

At least, it had been while finishing up her Christmas shopping in Muggle London the weekend before last... When Hermione had passed by the Coco de Mer store on Monmouth Street and seen the sexily dressed mannequins through the large, glass window, she'd been suddenly struck with the desire for a little spontaneous spending. She'd decided, on the spot, to give Draco a Christmas present he'd never forget: her, kitted out for seduction.

It had taken her twenty-five extra minutes of pacing out front of the upscale lingerie and sex toy boutique to talk herself into going through with it, but in the end, she'd finally come to the determination that nothing ventured was nothing gained. Grabbing hold of her lost Gryffindor courage, she'd marched into the shop and set about finding the perfect outfit to catch Draco's fancy... and educating herself on some of the more exotic toys and jewellery inside, while she was at it.

Under her robes tonight was the evidence of her sincerity to try with Draco. And yes, even though she'd almost talked herself out of the plan at dinner tonight  _again_ , she'd finally come to realise that life didn't offer you many chances for something this good. She'd be a fool to turn this down.

Besides, it was well past time she started acting like her old Gryffindor self. She'd allowed her depression over the set-backs and failures in her life to nibble away at her self-confidence for far too long.

"So, do you think you could help me out?" she coyly asked him. "With my plan, I mean."

His leisurely sweep of her body made things inside flutter with anticipation. "Well, I can definitely help you out of  _something,_  Granger." A sinful smile curled his sensual lips, making him appear predatory and dangerous. "My room. Thirty minutes. Bring your gifts."

With that, he turned away to say the first of his good nights.

She waited until he was gone at least five minutes before making her own excuses.

As she reluctantly shook Theodore Nott's hand at the last, wishing him a happy holiday as well, the evil, little grin he flashed her said he'd guessed far too much about why she might be leaving so soon after his old friend.

"'Merry Christmas to all and to all a  _good night!_ '" he said, quoting the famous Muggle holiday poem that was well-known even in the wizarding world. He dropped his eyes and looked her over from head to toe, his tone suggestive when he added, "For some of us more than others, I think."

His insinuation offended Hermione, who leaned away so she could put some space between them.

"Clearly, you've over-imbibed," she said with reproach and pulled her hand from his grasp. "You might want to slow down before you do something you'll regret, Mister Nott."

He snickered like a demented holiday elf and swayed forward to mutter in her ear, "I could offer you and Malfoy the same advice, but why deprive myself of another scene like the one in the Slytherin dungeon a few weeks ago? I so enjoyed that performance."

She grit her teeth, embarrassed to her core that she and Draco had been seen that day, when they'd had sex right against the wall, out in the open. She'd had a sneaky feeling they'd been watched by someone that time, but to have that suspicion confirmed, and by Nott of all people...

"You're an ill-bred scut," she hissed at him, spitting mad and ready to unsheathe her claws.

Rather than meet her aggression with his own or take offence at her insult, Nott merely chuckled and shrugged, completely unconcerned. "Yes, so I've been told by my father many a time, but at least I'm a loyal one—to Draco, that is. Slytherin brother, best friend, and all that. Therefore, you may consider your secret safe with me." He waggled his eyebrows at her and that Kneazle-like grin reappeared, reminding her of how Crookshanks used to look at her on occasion. "Just promise me a front row invite to the wedding of the century, yeah? Wouldn't want to miss ol' Lucius losing his shit over his only son and heir bringing an end to his thousand-year old pureblood dynasty." He cackled like an old crone over that imagery.

Knocked for a six by the sudden shift in the conversation, Hermione bit back on her blistering response and instead thought on what Nott had just said. A part of her wanted to giggle at the thought of Lucius Malfoy turning a lovely shade of magenta and breaking down in sobs as she wedded his son, but that reaction was distinctly at odds with her becoming flustered at the thought of being married a second time when her first marriage wasn't even officially ended yet,  _and_  with the desire to smack her co-worker right across the face for his audacity for even mentioning such a possibility in the first place.

"You're teasing me," she accused him.

He winked at her. "I'm Slytherin."

She threw her hands up. "Why is that always the pat answer for you snakes?"

Laughing, Theodore leaned back into his dark corner once more and toasted her with his half-empty glass of spiked eggnog. "Because you Gryffindors keep forgiving it."

"Argh!" she growled, turned and left.

As she stomped out, she realised Nott was right: all it took was one charming, serpent-like smirk from Draco, and she forgave him anything.

* * *

Hermione arrived at the Burrow the next afternoon after sleeping in a bit. She'd had, after all, a long and rather energetic night, with only a bowl of oatmeal and a single cup of strong coffee this morning to see her through.

Ginny answered the door. "'Mione's here!" she hollared over her shoulder and then engulfed Hermione in a hug. "Happy Christmas!"

Tiredly, Hermione hugged her back. "Happy Christmas, Gin."

Entwined around his mum's legs was Ginny's four-year old, hyperactive son, James. He was sucking his thumb, watching them with wide, brown eyes. Hermione bent to greet him, ruffling his dark hair with a smile. "Hello, Flash. Still the fastest thing on two legs?"

He toothily grinned at her and then was nothing but a blur of blue pyjamas and giggles racing up the stairs to prove he could outrace even a Snitch.

"Yes, he is definitely yours and Harry's child," she said to her friend, watching him go.

"He'll be the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts since his dad," Ginny agreed, ushering Hermione in and closing the door behind her to keep out the cold.

Hermione chuckled. "I wasn't talking about his speed. I meant his penchant for mischief."

Ginny made a cute moue with her mouth. "Oh, well, that's all Harry.  _I'm_  perfectly respectable."

They both erupted into snickers, knowing better.

"I worry when I hear that sound."

"Harry!" Hermione engulfed her friend in a hug as he came into the room from the kitchen. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, 'Mione. How've you been?"

They traded greetings as they claimed seats in the living room and huddled close. Harry talked about his recent capture of Rabastan Lestrange, one of the last of Voldemort's loyal Death Eaters to have escaped justice post-war, and Ginny had let on that she'd decided to start writing for the  _Daily Prophet's_  Quidditch column.

"You're retiring from the Harpies?" Hermione asked. "Why?"

Her two friends exchanged a meaningful glance, and then Ginny patted her belly. "Because number two child has decreed he gets air sick whenever Mum gets on a broom."

Hermione squealed with joy. "You're pregnant again? How wonderful!"

They shushed her, wanting to keep it a surprise from Ginny's parents until Christmas dinner, when they'd announce their happy news to the whole family.

"Of course, of course," Hermione agreed. "Sorry! I'm just so excited for you!"

"How about you?" Harry asked, changing the subject. "How's Hogwarts?"

"It's really great," she admitted, explaining to her friends that yes, she was occasionally frustrated by the laziness of some of her students, but overall, the teaching thing was fun and she enjoyed the challenges it presented. The work made her feel connected to the wizarding community and its future in a way M.L.E. never had. She actually felt like she was making a difference, creating the change she wanted for their society where it really mattered: in the minds and hearts of the people who would one day become stewards of their laws.

"That's good, Hermione. Really great to hear," Harry told her, patting her hand. "I'm happy that things worked out for you."

She could see the relief in his eyes, and knew he was sincere, yet she also knew the primary reason why Harry was feeling that way: because he believed her contentment with the direction her career had taken meant she was no longer angry at the Ministry for forcing her out, nor with Ron for... well, everything that had followed.

That was simply not true, however, and she had no intention of letting him believe things could simply go back to normal between her and her husband now. "They worked out for my  _career_ , yes," she stressed, fingering one of Draco's earrings in her lobe, touching it for courage. "The rest, however, remains to be resolved."

And it would be during this holiday. She would make sure of that.

Noting the worry line folding Ginny's brow, however, she decided that now was not necessarily the time or place to discuss her impending divorce plans. What was between her and Ron was their business, and was better discussed in privacy first, and she didn't want her friends trying to dissuade her before she'd even gotten the opportunity to talk about things with her husband.

Besides, Ginny was pregnant and emotional, and she shouldn't be stressed this early in the pregnancy or she could risk a miscarriage.

And it  _was_  Christmas. She would not ruin everyone else's holiday with her personal drama. They would all find out her plans for Ron come the new year, once the papers were filed with the Ministry's General Registry Office.

The trio moved their conversation into the kitchen to help Molly with the dicing of some vegetables for the traditional Christmas Eve soup to be served that evening when the older woman came out to greet Hermione.

"I'm glad you're here, deary," Mrs. Weasley told her as she handed Hermione an armful of carrots to peel. "Ron will be over the moon to see you, I'm sure."

Harry and Ginny echoed the sentiment.

 _No, I really don't think he will be,_  Hermione thought as she set about using her wand for the task. Wisely, she kept that comment to herself.


	5. Chapter 5

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the remaining Weasleys filtered into the Burrow for the Christmas gathering.

George, Angelina, and their son, Fred, came an hour or so after Hermione had arrived, popping out of the fireplace together with sooty faces and bright smiles. Bill, a very pregnant Fleur, and their daughters, Victorie and Dominique, arrived by magical carriage an hour after that, as Fleur could not Apparate in her advanced condition. Next there was Charlie, who'd taken an International Portkey from Romania. He accompanied Percy, Audrey, and their daughter, Molly, in as the four of them met at the at the edge of the Burrow's property wards. Andromeda appeared at the front door with Teddy, much to Harry's delight, and then finally Arthur and Ron Floo'd in from the Ministry.

"Ron's been working a lot of overtime at the office on the tracking spells and maps trying to locate Yaxley," Harry murmured in Hermione's ear, trying to explain his friend's lateness. "He's really been busting his arse to do the right thing."

"That's... good," she replied, unable to think of anything more exciting to say. It was admirable that Ron was keeping busy, really throwing himself into his career, too. He was making a go of his life without her, which was excellent news, actually, as that meant he wouldn't have time for pouting or pining once the divorce was finalized. A distraction in the meantime would be good for him.

"Harry," Molly called out, "can you come help, dear? I just need someone to stoke the fire a bit."

Molly Weasley used magic for many things, but everyone knew cooking wasn't one of them.  _That_  she preferred to do the old fashioned way: over a well-lit fire, stirred or turned by hand, or in her brick oven. She was the queen of the baking stone.

Harry moved off to help Mrs. Weasley, and that left Hermione alone with her thoughts as she stirred the soup and assured it didn't bubble over or burn.

Would Ron notice she no longer wore her wedding ring? Probably not right away. He wasn't very observant, in general.

Apparently, he wasn't very attentive, either. He had yet to come in and greet her, and he'd already been in the house for more than ten minutes. Their relationship was obviously on the rocks, but was it too much to ask for at least some sort of acknowledgment from her spouse? Where was he anyway?

She trained her senses outward, and could hear her boisterous husband heading upstairs from the living room, talking to his brothers about bunking down in their old rooms. She didn't once hear him ask where she might be before his voice was a droning buzz between floors, barely distinguishable.

Perhaps it was better he hadn't come to find her. She was still exhausted, and hadn't had much time alone today to fully process what had happened between her and Draco the night before.

Stirring the soup, she lost herself in the pleasure of those memories now...

No words had been needed when she'd appeared at Draco's door soon after leaving the staff party. Her expression had said it all.

_Please don't turn me away... I want you._

She'd finally made her choice as to which man, which life she'd wanted, and from the tender look upon Draco's face, he'd understood what it had and would cost her to choose him.

He'd reached out, taken her hand, and guided her into his arms.

They'd stood like that, inside his open door where anyone could see, holding on as if they were the other's anchor. He'd bent his head, kissed her mouth, and thoroughly claimed her heart in one fell swoop as he'd pulled her inside and shut the door behind them.

She'd taken charge then, as she'd wanted, seducing him with a possessive touch. Her hands explored every inch of his body as they'd tumbled to his bed, his clothing hastily shucked.  _"Lie still,"_  she'd instructed him, as he'd reached for her to take control.  _"Enjoy your gift."_

His willing surrender to her offering had been a sweet victory.

First, she played a game of 'catch my lips' with him, kissing him in such a way that her mouth never actually touched his. As a spoiled, only child, Draco had never liked being denied anything. A bit of that entitlement had followed him into adulthood, especially when it came to sex and  _her_ , so when Hermione had refused to give into to his desire to taste her mouth, teasing everywhere else around the spot with her lips, teeth, and tongue, it drove him wild, amping up his arousal. She'd smiled against his heated skin as he'd growled at her barely-there kisses. When, at last, he'd pleaded for her to kiss him, only then had she given him what he'd wanted.

She'd moved on before she could be lost in the kiss, though, determined to learn all of his secret spots. Her hungry mouth had traversed the line of his body, discovering every ridged muscle, every sweet opening. The gasps and moans she'd wrung from him as she'd worked had been a drug, baiting her to go further, to try more. She'd licked his nipples and then engulfed his cock in a single swallow. As she'd pulled back and then dropped back down, establishing a strong rhythm, she'd occasionally pull off and lick the hard shaft, flicking her tongue over the swollen, red head and tasting his essence on her tongue.

Draco had arched and groaned and thrust upwards as she'd pleasured him, his hands gripping the sheets in a tight hold as he'd let her take control.

When she'd pulled away, leaving him shaking and desperate for release, he hadn't uttered a single word. Nor had he resisted when she'd sat up and straddled him, taking his hands and silently directing him to touch her. Rather than remove her bra, Draco had pulled the cups down, wedging the fabric underneath and causing her breasts to thrust high. He'd pinched her nipples, as she'd rubbed the satin of her panties across his stiff, wet member, letting him feel her heat.

 _"Do you want me?"_  she'd asked him, hushed as the fire from the nearby hearth had crackled and snapped in the crisp air, its earthen, cinder scent filling her nostrils, seeping into her pores. The room had smelled of wood smoke and the taste in her mouth had been a combination of the Firewhisky she'd accidentally twirled over her tongue earlier and Draco's unique, masculine flavour. She'd licked her lips, savouring it.

 _"Always,"_  he'd confessed, his fingers roaming, tickling, stroking over her skin. His silvery gaze had been glazed over with passion, his cheeks painted by its fire as he'd taken her in, watching her with a kind of awe-filled longing that called to her.  _"I'm obsessed with you, Hermione. Every inch, every word, every touch. I... need you."_

Not just want, but need.

She'd been sure he'd never said such a thing to anyone in his life.

Her love for him had never felt more powerful than at that moment, beating strong and true under her breast. It had fuelled her, as she'd removed the last of her clothing and had lowered herself onto him, as she'd undulated upon him in slow, sure movements, and as she'd leaned down to capture his lips with confidence, all teasing at an end. She'd made love to him then as she'd been dreaming of doing for weeks, and when her orgasm had crept up on her, taking her unawares, they'd held each other until her shudders had ceased and her whispers of  _"I love you,"_  had faded.

Then, it was his turn.

He'd rolled them over, lying her back among his rumpled, silken bedsheets, thrusting deep and true. Drowning in the scent and feel and taste of him, Hermione had clung to him, wanton and whimpering, until at last he'd tumbled her over the edge for a second time into the purest bliss. He'd filled her with his love then, whispering the words at long last into her ear as he shuddered and surrendered to them as well.

Later, as she'd lain sated and warm under his blankets, hovering in that floating, calm world between sleep and wakening, he'd left her briefly to retrieve his gift from her robe's inner pocket. Stirring to full consciousness, she'd watched as he'd taken the sapphire and diamond earrings out of the box, and then as he'd helped her put them in her ears. The heavy stones lay comfortably against her lobes, clearly charmed not to be weighty. He gave them each a small stroke with his finger, enraptured by how they twinkled in the flickering light of the nearby fireplace.

" _They're beautiful on you... You're beautiful, Hermione."_

He'd parted her lips and her thighs at the same time, then slid into her slowly, taking her back to that place where they existed only for each other for a third time...

"Hermione, the soup!" Harry cried out in warning, drawing her back into the here and now. "It's bubbling over!"

Reacting, she pulled the dinner away in time, and set it to cool down next to the sink on a trivet. Fortunately, she hadn't burned her hands in the doing, but she was gently banished from the kitchen by Molly.

"You're looking a bit peaky, m'dear," her mother-in-law clucked at her. "They've got you working too hard at that school. Best go have a lie down. We've got this."

Giving in to the suggestion, Hermione made her way up the stairs to her husband's childhood bedroom, where she assumed they would be staying while bunking down together for the holiday. Perhaps she'd even catch him up here, and they could have a talk, settling things amicably right up front.

She froze in the open doorway to the sight that greeted her.

Ron was changing out of his work clothes into his casuals. At the moment, he was completely nude, and as he was at a three-quarters view from the door, Hermione had a pretty good view of his body. Marring the front of his torso, his arms and shoulders, his buttocks and his back were long, red streaks—women's fingernail marks, from the looks of them. On the side of his throat was a rather large and obviously new love bite.

His response was the same this time as when she'd caught him in the broom closet with Lavender Brown: a guilty, silent shock.

There was no question what he'd been doing just prior to coming in today. Apparently, all that "overtime work, busting his arse" that Harry had claimed Ron had been doing had been true... just maybe not in the exact way her friend had assumed.

Her reaction this time was different. Instead of turning around and simply leaving, she entered the room, closed the door behind her, and  _Silenced_  the room. "How was work?" she asked, calm and, for the first time ever, feeling perfectly clear about her relationship with Ron and where it was headed.

This didn't hurt, she realised. It wouldn't be as hard as she'd assumed.

Warily, Ron pulled up his jeans and with quick work, buttoned them up. Then, he tossed a Weasley jumper over his head and tugged it into place. His thinning hair stood on end from the static in the cool, dry air. "It was okay." He looked down at his bare feet, but made no move to slip on some socks and his boots. "How's teaching?"

"Much more rewarding than I'd thought it would be, honestly." She smiled as she thought of this most recent round of end-of-term testing, and how her students had gathered into groups that ignored House lines the week before to practise together. To her delight, not a one of them had received any mark lower than an 'Acceptable' on their exam. "This generation's different from ours. They work just as hard as they play, and the blood prejudice we grew up with isn't relevant to most of them. Some of them are quite the pranksters, true, but they're more like Fred and George were, rather than malicious. Overall, they seem to want a better world, as if they'd learned the lessons of the war second-hand and never want to see them repeated in their lifetime. It's really quite extraordinary."

"That's... good. Really good."

He still didn't look at her, keeping his eyes cast downward while shame flushed his cheeks.

Rather than feel smug or triumphant over the humbling of her husband, Hermione felt only a great well of pity for him. Only now did he seem to understand that they could have been good together if they'd been given the time to grow, and if there had been a little more give on his part.

Well, she thought, there was absolutely no reason to be upset about what she'd seen. She didn't love Ron anymore, and their marriage was clearly over for both of them, so why couldn't they move past this amicably, if they wanted?

"I'll contact a solicitor after the new year to draw up the necessary paperwork for the divorce," she offered quietly.

Ron's eyes closed and his head fell forward, but all that left his mouth was a great, regretful sigh.

"We don't want to ruin everyone's holiday, so we should wait until the paperwork's filed to announce it," she continued. "So, while we're here, let's just pretend everything's the same, alright?"

He lifted his arms and cradled the back of his head, tilting his face to the ceiling. "Mum's going to have a fit when she finds out. And Ginny and Harry, too."

Hermione shrugged, refusing to let her friends dictate her happiness from now on. "We don't have to make them feel so badly about it if we show them that this is an agreeable solution to both of us." She crossed the room to him and tugged on his arm to indicate he should sit with her on the bed. The old wooden frame creaked as their combined weight settled onto it. "Honestly, Ron, I'm not mad. I was hurt and resentful that day at the Ministry, but over time, I've come to realise that some things simply aren't meant to be, and that people fall out of love and it's not really anyone's fault, per se. it just... happens."

She took his hand in hers and smoothed her fingertips over his dented wedding ring, smiling at the memory of her own. They'd been a shiny, new pair the day they'd married...

Glancing up at his long, crimson lashes, at the sprinkle of freckles bridging his nose, at the deep blue of his eyes and the way his ginger-coloured fringe occasionally fell across them at a rakish angle, Hermione knew she would miss how those things looked through the gaze of a woman in love.

"We were best friends before we began dating. I think it's possible to recapture some of that, if you want." She hoped he wouldn't burn this bridge between them as so many divorced couples did—that he'd take her peace offering so they could end things without heaping hurt onto an already sad situation. "We won't be as close, obviously, but we could still be good friends. I'd... I'd really like that, Ron. I'd like to stay your friend."

With a gentle grip, he raised her knuckles to his lips and placed a small kiss on them. His hand trembled, and his mouth lingered a moment longer than politeness allowed.

"I'm sorry, for always,  _always_  hurting you, Hermione. You are the best woman I've ever known, and I... I never deserved you."

His apology was sincere and it meant more to her than he would ever know to hear it. Unexpected tears pricked her eyes and slipped down her cheeks in hot cascades.

"It's all forgiven, Ron. Let's just promise to try never to hurt each other again, if we can." She turned her hand in his and they shook on it. "Friends, then."

"Friends forever." He gave her a sad smile, placing his other hand atop their clasped ones. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"Happy Christmas, Ron."

* * *

Having resolved the emotional issues between them, Hermione and Ron spent the entire holiday break enjoying their last hurrah together. The fraught tension that had existed between them for years seemed to have magically dissolved into the icy air once the decision was made to end their marriage, and so they were able to return to a place of happier, more innocent times.

It was Bill and Charlie who established the roster of events for the ten days of the break: a snow castle building contest was held the first day, judged by the non-participants—Arthur, Molly, Fleur, Andromeda, and Audrey. Several variant games of tag in the snow was played the next. In the three days after that, there was snowman building and ice skating on the nearby frozen pond, and Angelina and George even rigged up a set of self-propelled brooms to an old apple cart and magicked some runners to it to make a sleigh that drove all around the property.

On day five, however, a vicious storm hit their little meadow hidden among the rolling hills of Devonshire, causing white-out conditions, so Bill's plans for a pick-up Quidditch game in the snow were squashed. Instead, a do-or-die wizarding chess competition became the default entertainment for that day, and predictably, Ron walked away the crowned King of that tourney.

The following day, the blizzard had passed over them, heading south. However, the icy wind trailing behind it continued to bellow and bluster at Ottery St. Catchpole, making outdoors play impossible. Trapped inside, everyone became restless... until Harry had the smart idea to quickly Apparate back to his and Ginny's house in Godric's Hollow to pick up some Muggle board games. Monopoly and Scrabble (played with wizarding terms) proved good distractions for a while, but it was really Ticket To Ride that quickly became the hot game. Even Arthur was enthused, especially by the little train and station tokens.

The next afternoon, there were Exploding Snap and Gobstones duels, and once the wind stopped its incessant howling, snowball fights became fair game to engage in at any time once more.

Frequently during that week and a half, Hermione and Ron chose to play on the same team whenever a game required couples, their connection still strong enough for them to read each other's moves or intentions in advance and be ready to support a play. Once or twice, though, they were in opposition. During those times, there was no enmity, merely a natural, friendly competitiveness between them. Things between them, it seemed, were very much playing out as Hermione had hoped. She would get to keep her soon-to-be ex-husband for a friend, at least, and that meant Harry and Ginny would not have to choose sides or be put in the middle. Everyone won.

As Hermione reached a place of emotional equilibrium, however, her physical health began suffering instead. The continual gorging of rich and heavy holiday foods that everyone chipped in to prepare—from Brummie bacon cakes and sausage and egg baps for breakfast to marmalade-glazed ham, buttered and sliced parsnips, honey-drenched treacle tarts, and mince pies for lunches and dinners—left her a bit ill in the stomach, forcing her to take potions from her handy first aid travel kit to prevent nausea. She did so secretly, so as not to offend anyone's cooking skills.

Also, by day two, playing in the snow had become more than a little exhausting, and Hermione found she was having trouble keeping up with the energy levels of the others. She knew she was out of shape and had gained a little weight around her middle with age, but to her chagrin, she grew fatigued after only a couple of hours outside at a time. She'd even fallen asleep at the dinner table one evening, nearly falling face-first into her pudding. Every night, when she crawled into the bed she shared with Ron ("only to keep up appearances"), she would fall asleep almost immediately, worn out from the days efforts. During the great chess tournament, she'd opted to remain in bed to rest all day rather than go downstairs to join in the barbarity that was wizarding chess, and that had seemed to help her recover some of her strength. Still, it was a struggle some days not to go in for an afternoon nap.

Overall, despite the health set-backs—which Hermione attributed to most likely fighting off a cold as one had been going around Hogwarts just before the break—the winter holiday proved to be a great time to be had by all. Unfortunately, Twelfth Night came all too soon, though, and the fun was brought to its inevitable conclusion.

Hermione left her beloved friends the next day with a great amount of hugging and cheek kissing and final thanks for the lovely Yule gifts she'd received, a small melancholy gripping her heart as she Apparated away, wondering if this would be the last Christmas she'd celebrate at the Burrow.

To her surprise, Ron appeared at her side at the Apparition point at Kings Cross Station.

"Here, let me," he said, taking up her luggage.

"You don't have to—"

He simply looked at her. "I know. Let me do this for you anyway?"

She sighed, resigned. Her husband had been unusually attentive this last week, as if he was trying extra hard for these, their last moments together, to be good for both of them. If only he'd shown this kind of thoughtfulness and consideration years ago!

"Okay."

They were two hours early, as Hermione had wanted to board the train and claim a seat in the first carriage before students began boarding. The idea of at least an hour's worth of peace and quiet appealed to her after being surrounded by a lovely, yet extremely boisterous group for the last ten days.

There were only a few families milling around platform nine and three-quarters right then, all preparing to send their children back to school with an earful of good advise for the second term, no doubt. They lingered, fussy mothers straightening collars and wiping faces while anxious fathers stood nearby smoking or jiggling change in their pockets. Children too young to attend school were underfoot, scolded for wandering too far, busy playing with the luggage, or quietly sucking on candy purchased from one of the vendor stalls inside the station. It was middle-class idyllic bliss, the war long gone from the thoughts of these people.

"So, you drew the unlucky 'chaperone' duty on the train this time around, yeah?" Ron asked her, more for something to say to fill the awkward silence that grew between them with every step than to discuss her assigned work role for the day.

"Actually, Neville did," she replied, "but I traded with him so he could have a few extra days with Hannah Abbott."

Ron glanced sideways at her, one ginger-eyebrow raised in curiosity. "He still courting her? Thought for sure he'd moved on after catching her flirting with Seamus that one time."

She shrugged. "He's smitten."

"Ah," he said, a wise twinkle appearing in his blue eyes. As they approached their destination, he set her bag down on the platform near the train's open door. "Nothing for it then, I s'ppose. Once a man loses his heart, no matter how he loses his head later, he'll never get over it."

Another awkward pause ensued. Hermione wasn't sure how to take Ron's comment, and she was sure he was waiting for her to react to it. "Well," she said finally, choosing to ignore any possibly implied regret on his part, so they could leave things on a good note, "I suppose this is goodbye, then."

He sighed, and it was a melancholy sound. "Yeah."

She turned to him. "Don't be like that, please. We had a nice time, and we'll see each other again. We're still friends... aren't we?"

His eyes once more found the floor interesting, and his frown weighed heavily upon his face. "It'll never be the same, though."

Hesitantly, she touched his arm. "No, but I'll always love you, Ron. You were my first."

He turned to her, cupped her cheek, stroking gently. "And you were mine." His gaze dropped to her mouth. "One more time?"

What was the harm in giving in to his request? This would be their final parting as husband and wife. Ending things on the same note in which they'd begun them on their wedding day—with a kiss—would be solid closure for them both.

Pushing up on her toes, she tilted her mouth towards his as he lowered his head and pulled her into his warm, familiar embrace. The kiss was soft, an apologetic brush of lips. It was sweet, soft, tender... all the things that she'd wanted from him for so long.

Thoughts of what might have been had he been a little more attentive and she a little less insistent tormented her.

But none of it mattered any longer, for she'd set her new course and given her love to another man, and there was no going back.

Not that she'd want to, anyway.

"Shit," Ron whispered, shaking as he backed off to catch his breath. "I am such an idiot."

Before she could reply, he pulled her back in, desperate to hold them in the moment, seemingly unwilling to let it go yet.

Tears pricked the back of Hermione's eyes, hot and aching with emotion as she stood passively within his embrace and let Ron accept that what they'd had was now over. When he did at last seem to understand that fact, he ended the kiss with a sigh.

"I'll miss you like this," he told her, forehead pressed to hers. Tears beaded his lashes, too.

She was saved having to respond by the conductor shouting at some child further down the track, warning him away from the edge of the platform. It gave her the excuse to pull away, to let go of the past.

_No do-overs._

_All or nothing..._

"Be safe," she wished for him, knowing he was returning to a dangerous job and that this time, she wouldn't be the first one there to catch him if he should fall. That responsibility now lay primarily with his Auror partner, his family, and with the woman who would one day replace her at his side. "And thank you for a lovely holiday."

Ron sniffled and nodded, clearly trying to hold it together, too. "You, too, 'Mione."

Before she fell apart right there on the platform and made a scene, she quickly scooped up her bag and headed into the train. She stumbled on the top step, but quickly caught herself and kept going, refusing to look out the side windows to see if Ron was still there waiting for her to change her mind.

Endings were never an easy matter. Even when they signified the successful culmination of one's plans, they still felt a little too much like loss. Yet, Hermione knew that if there was one good that came from all that pain, it was that a new beginning was waiting right on the other side of it. She reminded herself of that fact as she found a seat in the first compartment of the train and settled in.

Yes, the way back was now closed, as far as she was concerned... but before her there lay a whole, new adventure. Her Gryffindor heart couldn't wait to get started!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always bothered with the non-con Dramione requirement from the original request for this fic, but it was asked of me so I included it in revision 1.0 of the story. For revision 2.0, I made the executive decision to remove the non-con element altogether (sorry, whiteowl!), as it felt gratuitous/unjustifiable to the plot. Instead, I've taken the romance genre's typical storyboard angle with this chapter: a big, fat angsty hump (two, actually) for our beloved couple to get over. I hope you agree with the change and enjoy the new version of the chapter.
> 
> Please review!

**Early January, 2007**

Draco hadn't appeared at the Hogsmeade train station to greet her upon her return to school.

Hermione thought that odd, but assumed it was because he hadn't yet returned from his visit home, or perhaps he was dealing with duties as Head of Slytherin House. Or, perhaps he was waiting for her up at the castle.

Either way, she knew she probably wouldn't get a chance to be alone with him tonight, as her duty to the children came first.

After directing everyone onto a carriage, and then staying behind to check the train for stragglers and finding none, she then bid Hagrid a hearty new year before catching the last carriage to the castle. She spent the whole ride up going through the various solicitor resumes that she'd Owl'd off for while on holiday and received before the New Year. Tomorrow, she planned to begin her divorce proceedings, and she wanted to be prepared to hire the most thorough and confidential of the bunch.

Getting teenagers to line up was like herding cats, but eventually, she got everyone checked in and accounted for at the front gate. From there, she reminded them that evening meal would be in the Dining Hall in another hour, and shoo'd them along towards their Houses to check in with their Prefects. Once that was done, she nipped up to her own room for a quick freshening up, applying a little make-up and perfume, too, as she knew she would see Draco at dinner tonight. Even if they merely said a few words to each other, she wanted to look her best for him.

He was sitting next to Theodore Nott at the head table, but never so much as glanced her way, despite the fact she'd seen Theo note her appearance and report it to Draco. Stationed on the other end from them, she took her seat and dug in with the rest of them after Minerva's 'welcome back' speech. She did look down the table in his direction twice to see if she could catch Draco's eye, but both times, he was deep in conversation with either Nott or with Helena Merrythought... who fawned all over Draco as if he were the cat's meow.

She'd just dug into the pudding when he'd gotten up and left the room without a backward glance.

Clearly, he was in a foul mood. Maybe something had happened when he'd been home for the holidays?

She didn't want to jump to any conclusions, so she decided she'd give him his space to cool down. Perhaps he'd only had a row with his father or mother before leaving their home, and that was the root of the problem. If so, she didn't want to intrude... especially if that argument might have had something to do with Draco seeing her, a Muggle-born witch.

* * *

 

**Early January, 2007 - One Week Later**

A week was more than enough patience and understanding, Hermione thought. Whatever Draco's personal issues, she'd given him ample room to deal.

For Godric's sake, he wouldn't even look at her anymore! He'd also avoided any duties that required him to act as Head of Slytherin House to her Head of Gryffindor, sending Theo in his place instead. And he let Helena Merrythought hang all over him as if he was some GQ catch of the year.

...Which he was, but seriously, enough was enough!

On the seventh evening since their return to school, with butterflies rioting around in her belly, threatening to make her sick-up all over the floor right then and there, Hermione knocked on Draco's door determined to find out why he'd been purposefully avoiding her.

He opened the way into his private quarters as if he'd been expecting someone to come knocking on his door tonight, but the look on his face said it hadn't been her he'd been waiting on. He was shirtless and in a pair of black silk pyjama bottoms, and he smelled as if he'd just gotten out of the shower, fresh and clean. In one hand, he held a half-empty glass of Firewhisky, and in the other, his wand.

He glared down at her as if she were the Whore of Babylon risen up and not the woman he'd claimed to love just a couple of weeks earlier.

"Waiting for someone?" she asked, trying to calm her racing heart. The sight of him half-naked made her mind turn to jelly, so she stared into his eyes instead, reminding herself of how callous and insensitive he'd been towards her all week. She grabbed hold of the anger and held on for all she was worth.

Draco stared daggers at her. "What's it to you?"

The vehemence in his voice gave her pause. This was definitely not about his parents. Whatever had his wand in a knot had to do with her, specifically. This anger was all for her. But why? What had she done? "What's going on?" she asked him. "Why have you been avoiding me and acting so hostile?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched, as if he was grinding his back teeth to hold his temper in check, but his lips remained sealed.

She sighed in frustration. Sometimes, Draco's unyielding attitude was the very definition of sexy, but right then... not so much. Not when it was accompanying a resentful anger and sullen silence without explanation.

"Tell me what I've supposedly done wrong so I can fix it."

"Don't you know?" he asked, dripping sarcasm and with a dangerous glimmer in his eye.

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't have asked."

He glared at her, swirling the contents of his glass around in contemplation. Finally, he said, "There's nothing to fix here, Granger. I just don't want you anymore. Take the hint."

He started to close the door in her face, but she stuck her heel in and pressed her foot against it, forcing it to stay open.

"Take the... What the hell, Draco? What kind of game are you playing with me?" she snapped.

Being partially inebriated didn't seem to impair Draco's ability to move. Faster than she could track, his hand was suddenly clamped down upon her wrist and then with a tug, he had her pulled her inside his room. The hollow echo of the door slamming behind her made it clear that he thought what they had to say to each other was best said in private.

Once they were in, he released her almost immediately, as if touching her was infectious.

"Oh, but you like games, don't you, Granger?" he hissed, practically spitting venom at her. "You like pitting your cleverness against another person's—hell, it's practically foreplay for you."

Fear, the likes of which Hermione hadn't felt since Bellatrix had held a wand to her throat, shot through her with a cold precision that left her frozen and locked in place. She stared up at Draco through wide eyes, not seeing the face of the man she'd known for the last two years, but the boy who had once wished her permanently erased from history.

"Toying with men is your ultimate high, isn't it? First Krum, then McLaggen, then Weasley, now me. We're all just puppets you use to get your cheap thrills."

The room got all wavy, and her eyes grew hot. "What are you talking about? Why are you doing this?" she asked in a choked whisper. "What happened to you over the break to turn you into... this?"

"What happened to  _me?_ " he repeated, incredulous, and bitterly laughed. "You're a real mind fuck, you know?"

Draco moved away from her then, probably to give them both some breathing room. As he crossed to his alcohol caddy on a table against the wall and refilled his drink to the rim, Hermione took the opportunity to wipe the moisture from her eyes with shaky hands.

"What happened to me," he scoffed. "Merely that I took a good, long peek through the looking glass, and what I saw... it was a real eye-opener," he said and tossed back half the Firewhisky in a single go. He grimaced while swallowing it down.

Hermione let out a groan of frustration. "What does that even mean? I don't understand your Slytherin riddling!"

He smirked. "You didn't really think those earrings I gave you were simple mundane things, did you?"

She reached up and stroked over the stones that had remained in her ears since the moment he'd put them on her. "They're magical? What do they do?"

Slowly, like a viper moving into position, he headed to one of the two cosy chairs in the room and sat down. He crossed his legs and just stared at her for the longest time, considering, drumming his fingers against the padded arm. "Did you have fun at the Weasel's house for the break?" he finally asked, his voice deceptively mild, his eyes glittering with suppressed fury in the light reflected from the fire in the nearby hearth.

Hermione was confused by the quick shifting of conversational gears. "They're my family. Why wouldn't I enjoy their company?"

The tapping of his fingers grew heavier and faster, and she knew he hadn't liked her response one bit.

"How's the  _loving_  husband?"

She flinched. Now that had been a low blow. Draco always had a way of hitting where it hurt; he'd excelled at cruel taunting back in school and it seemed his adult-self hadn't forgotten the talent. "He's… fine, I suppose."

"You suppose? Funny, I thought you were in a position to  _intimately_  know."

Unsettled and on rocky footing, Hermione felt like she was edging off a cliff with no way to stop her forward momentum. "Are you going to tell me what is this all really about, Draco, or should we save this conversation for another day when you're acting more sensible?"

"Malfoy," he corrected her. "To you, my name is Malfoy. And you're Weasley."

Hermione couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. "Draco," she insisted, "tell me what I've done to make you this angry with me."

He sneered and all of the hurtful memories from their childhood came back with that one look. "You're quite good at the whole 'innocent angel' act, aren't you? No wonder you were able to trick Weasley into marrying you so easily... and me into chasing after you like a panting dog." He took another hit on his drink, and while his mouth was still full, pointed at her face, casually waving back and forth. "It's those big, doe eyes of yours, I'm sure," he said once he'd swallowed. "They can stab a man in the heart every time."

She threw her hands up in the air. "I have no idea what you're on about, and frankly, I'm at my wit's end."

Someone knocked on the door behind her.

Draco set his drink down on a side table next to his chair and headed to answer it. "Fortunately for us both, your timing is impeccable in that regard. I'm at my end with you as well."

He brushed her out of the way and opened the door.

Helena Merrythought stood on the other side of the threshold, holding a bottle of some sort of wine. "Oh," she said, astounded to see Hermione there. She looked back and forth between her and Draco, as if trying to measure up the situation. "I didn't mean to interrupt." That last came out as more of a question, rather than a statement.

"You didn't," Draco replied. "Granger was just leaving."

Placing his hand on her spine, Draco hurriedly directed Hermione out of his room, practically shoving her into the hallway.

By the time she'd turned around to give Draco a piece of her mind, Helena was sauntering inside his living quarters and his attention was fully fixated on the other woman. He took the bottle from her hand with a knicker-melting smile and a sensual, predatory gleam in his eye.

"But—"

The door slammed in her face.

From the other side, there came a feminine giggle and the pop of a Champagne cork.

She looked down at her body. No, she hadn't been hit by a Freezing Charm, nor by a Slicing Hex, yet it felt as if she'd just been nailed by both at the same time.

_"I just don't want you anymore."_

Turning, she headed back to her room, too numb to even care that the portraits were all whispering and pointing at her, some even snickering when she passed them by, as if they all knew the juicy gossip: the adulteress, Hermione Weasley, had finally gotten her comeuppance.

Eventually, when she finally managed to drag her tired, pain-wracked body up to her room, she took the earrings off and put them back in their original box. Only then did she fall apart.

_"Take the hint."_

Oh, God, it hurt.

This she wasn't getting over. Because there was nothing worse than being used and spat out by the man you loved.

In her case, she was two for zero on that count.

* * *

 

**Mid January, 2007 - One Week Later**

In the end, Hermione had decided to go ahead and file the divorce paperwork the day after her fight with Draco. Things may not have worked out with her former lover, but that didn't mean she would, for comfort's sake, remain chained to her husband any longer, especially seeing as how he was still having an affair with Lavender Brown.

To her immense relief, Ron did not dispute her request for the divorce, as promised. He'd immediately signed the papers and sent them on to the Ministry for filing, agreeing to Hermione's terms of an equitable split in the finances, and a 50/50 sharing if the profits from the sale of their home, which had gone up on the market just that week and already had a potential buyer, according to the estate agent. As there had been no children born of the relationship, there were no custody issues to consider, thankfully, and so it seemed they were going to make this division as amicable as possible, after all.

On the eighteenth of January, an Owl'd note arrived from the General Registration Office at the Ministry informing her that they'd received the papers for official divorce filing on the fifteenth of January, and that after a thirty-day mandatory cooling-off period, the divorce would be filed for public record on the fourteenth of February.

On Valentine's Day, of all the ironies. 

She also received a note from the estate agent letting her know the potential buyer had just made an offer on her house. It was less than had been asked for, and so she was being requested to respond with instructions.

"Excuse me," she politely said to her colleagues, standing and abandoning her seat at the breakfast table, heading for her office to compose a reply.

Honestly, it was fine with her to skip the first meal, as her stomach was off again and the thought of woofing down greasy sausages and eggs made her queasy. That, combined with the stress she'd been under, watching Helena Merrythought so blatantly show-off her new relationship with Draco to the whole world and to pretend not to be affected by it, and the combined smells coming from the mass of teenage bodies packed into the Dining Hall, was beginning to give her a headache.

She passed Draco and Helena going in as she was going out. He completely ignored her, engaged instead in a conversation with his new lover, who had her arm looped through his and was listening to him with rapt attention. She laughed in delight at something he'd said, and then she was pressing a kiss to his mouth and praising his cleverness.

Well, that certainly answered the question of co-worker fraternization at Hogwarts. No one seemed to blink an eye at the two of them flirting so openly.

It took everything Hermione had not to fly into a rage and to hex them both to hell and back. Instead, she hurried away. When she arrived in her office minutes later, she'd worked herself up into such a frenzy of anger and hurt that when she finally unleashed it, she blew the furniture to pieces with her magic.

 _"Bombarda!"_  she snarled at the windows, and they blew outward in a loud explosion that surely had been heard clear across the castle.

Good God, what had she just done?!

She stared at her wand in astonishment.

This... this was all his fault! His for intentionally crumpling her up and tossing her out like trash! His for tricking her into believing his lies! His for being so charming and so cunning, and knowing all the right things to say and do to win her over! His for...

No, the truth was, it was her fault, wasn't it?

All of it was on her.

She'd known better than to get tangled up with someone else while married—a Malfoy no less. She'd been the one to lower the guards around her heart, to allow her own desperation and a bundle of hormones to cloud her judgment. She'd done this to herself, brought herself to this point. She'd tricked someone years ago, and now a trick had been played upon her.

She was reaping what she'd sown.

Falling to the floor, she covered her eyes with a hand and mourned her mistakes.

The sound of crunching glass behind alerted her to a stranger's approach, and in an instant, she had her wand up and had turned, prepared to fire off a Petrify spell.

She paused the moment she recognised the intruder.

"Neville? What are you—?"

Her friend looked around at the mess she'd made of her office, noting the rather large hole in the wall that decorated one whole side of the room, and whistled in amazement. He was as wide-eyed as a boy on his first visit to a candy shoppe, the same awe filling his expression... only that wasn't delight twisting up his lips, but something closer to fear.

"Holy shit, Hermione."

Terribly embarrassed by the scene she'd made and for how awful she undoubtedly looked right then, she hastily cast a reverse and repair spell upon the window and scrubbed at her cheeks to rid them of the evidence of her tears. "You heard, I take it?" she asked, indicating the disaster area that had been ground zero to her tantrum.

"Everyone heard," he replied. He took his wand out and cast the same reverse and repair spell upon her furniture, her papers, and her assortment of pictures, knickknacks, and baubles that decorated her office. "I followed you up. You looked like you were out to do murder. Couldn't have that."

Hermione gave a small, tired laugh. "Seems your Auror skills haven't rusted being in this place."

He glanced at her over his shoulder and grinned. "I was only an Auror for two years, just long enough to put the Lestrange brothers behind bars for life. I didn't intend to make a career of it as Harry, Ron, and Seamus have."

The last piece of furniture came together, a picture straightened itself on its wall peg, and the magical patch work was done. The room looked once more as it had upon her entering.

"Maybe not, but if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that some girls are attracted to a man in uniform, and being married doesn't seem to be an obstacle to their ambitions." Hauling herself to her feet, she gave a heavy, resigned sigh and glanced around. The wave of her emotions, it seemed, had peaked and with the release of all that energy, were now quickly dissipating. "Thank you, Neville. Truly, I mean it. I just... I'm having a rather bad few weeks."

He shrugged, trying for casual, but Hermione could see the wariness lingering in his gaze. "Repairing things at Hogwarts seems to be part of the job description."

True. Every other day, something around the castle either blew up, ran away screaming, escaped from captivity, attacked a student, or fell down with such a fantastic crash that it sent people scuttling to the hospital ward. It was no wonder no one else had come running to find out what all the excitement was about in Professor Weasley's office a few moments ago.

"I really appreciate your help, but... I, uh, originally came up here for a reason that didn't involve mass destruction," she said, attempting to hurry him out so she could be alone with her thoughts again. "I should really get back to it—"

For the first time ever, Neville interrupted her. "Listen, 'Mione, I don't want to pry, but..." His cheeks went bright red and his eyes played ping-pong around the room, rather than focussing on her. "I couldn't help but notice that, um, you seem awfully moody lately."

Well,  _of course_  she'd been somewhat emotional of late, her happy and sad moments see-sawing back and forth, as unpredictable as a jinxed broom. Dealing with your husband having an affair and engaging in your own on the sly wasn't an easy thing to do, emotionally, physically, or mentally. She just wasn't built for such deceit, it seemed. Then, to be so abruptly and inexplicably dumped and to have her heart stepped on and the flattened bits of it kicked around to boot, well in truth, Hermione was surprised she'd held it together this long.

Not that she intended telling him any of that.

"I'll agree I've been a bit out of sorts," she conceded.

Neville glanced at her sideways. "A bit? You're, like, banshee-level moody. Uncharacteristically so."

"I... I'm going through a bit of a... a rough patch this year."

He cleared his throat. "Let me try it another way. You know I'm dating Hannah Abbott, who runs the Leaky Cauldron, which is a  _hotel_ , not just a pub, and as a result I... I hear things. About people coming in and renting rooms." He indicated the empty space where her wedding ring once sat upon her finger. "People like Lavender Brown and... Ron."

Hermione quickly covered her bare hand, that free-falling feeling back and making her sick to her stomach.

"Oh."

"And I've seen the way you and Malfoy have looked at each other for months now, when you think the other isn't watching. He stares at you the same way I do at Hannah."

Her cheeks flared with heat, so hot she could feel them without touching.

"Oh."

"And I know something changed over the break, because now he's not looking at you anymore and he's seeing Helena."

Hermione shut her eyes, wishing this conversation wasn't happening, especially not with Neville, who wasn't a girlfriend or a adviser. He was her friend, yes, but he was also Ron's, and he was her co-worker and her Hogwarts Housemate and had been her brother-at-arms during the war, but none of that made him her confessor or confidant.

It did, however, put them both in an awkward position regarding the secrets of her love life.

Neville didn't back down from the challenge, however, speaking his piece because he obviously thought it too important to remain silent any longer. "I guess what I'm saying is, I get why all of that would put you off and make you temporarily... erratic." He rubbed the back of his head and stared at his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the discussion as well, but muscling on. "But I get the feeling there's more going on than just that, and I don't think you see it."

"H-how do you mean?" she asked. Her insides were rolling around like a washer on the scrub cycle. A strong enough push, and she thought she'd be in for a nasty spin—but she was willing to risk that to find out what Neville meant. He was an outside observer, and that put him in a unique position to give her as unbiased an opinion as possible, under the circumstances.

"Your eating is off, for one. My seat's next to yours in the Dining Hall, so I've noticed the changes. Sometimes you really stuff it in, and other times... you look green in the face, like you can't stand the sight of food. Then, there's the moody thing. It's to the point where the rest of us are walking on eggshells around you. And sometimes, well, you look really tired, I wonder if you've slept at all."

As he ticked off the symptoms she'd been feeling for the last month and a half, Hermione could feel all the blood draining from her face. It was a list of symptoms that, when put together, could only mean one of a few things.

When was the last time she'd had her period, she wondered.

Neville fell silent as he noticed her make the connection he'd been hinting at, and his eyes dipped to her still-flat belly. Instinctively, Hermione covered the area with her hands, feeling light-headed at his implication.

Gently, he suggested, "Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey."

"O-okay," she agreed, shaky inside and out at the thought that she might be...

"I'll go with you, if you want," Neville kindly offered, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her and giving her a comforting smile.

She responded to his sweet offer by throwing up all over his shoes.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Mid January, 2007 - One Day Later**

Things didn't look quite so bleak when viewed from high up, Hermione thought. There was a calm that came over a person staring out over a panoramic view of snow-capped mountains and frost-lined forests and still, crystalline lakes.

No wonder Harry would often sit up here in the Astronomy Tower by himself during their school years, slipping away from the rest of them under his Invisibility Cloak and dangling his legs out over the edge. These quiet, alone moments were probably all the peace he'd ever known in his young life.

It was the chilled air that really did the trick, she thought. It cleared the lungs and sharpened the mind, allowing for a safe place for one's acceptance of the natural order.

Reaching down, she stretched her hand over her abdomen wondering about the tiny life growing inside.

Nearly three months along. She'd gotten pregnant near the end of October, most likely on Halloween night, when Draco'd had her on this very spot. That night, they'd been naked like pagans, wild and lusty while worshiping each other under the Samhain half-moon.

Now he was idolizing Helena Merrythought in the same way.

The visual made her queasy.

Pushing away from the edge, she turned and made her way down the metal staircase to the lower entrance of the tower, returning to the gritty, harsh world of man-made industry and noise, deciding she'd had enough of thinking about 'nature' for one afternoon.

* * *

 

**End of January, 2007**

The sale of the cottage went through. When the name of the buyer came up in the final paperwork, Hermione was surprised by it.

"You?" she asked the Headmistress as they sat down for weekly tea in her office. "You bought our cottage. Why?"

The old witch smiled and placed her cup down in its matching saucer on her desk. "I know you can keep a secret, my dear, so... I'm going to be retiring next year. I've recently... reconnected with an old friend," she said, her eyes twinkling with a youthful excitement and her cheeks blushed by new love, "and we've decided to make a go of it."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, Minerva, that's wonderful news! I mean, not in you moving on from here, as you're the foundation of the school, but that you've met someone who makes you this happy!"

Minerva busied herself with fiddling with her cup, as if embarrassed by her emotions, which were brimming over just then. "Yes, well, at my age, if good news comes knocking at the door, one would be foolish not to let it in." She lifted her tea to her lips once more and those too-perceptive eyes stared at Hermione over the rim. "Speaking of which... am I to understand from recent rumour that you and Mister Weasley have, as they say, patched things up?"

Hermione put her own cup down. "Quite the opposite, actually."

"Oh, my dear," Minerva cooed, setting her tea aside once more, the vision of motherly concern. "I apologise for... I'd assumed from Poppy's report on your condition that the sale of your home meant you were moving into a larger space to accommodate a growing family."

It felt odd confiding so much in someone else, but Minerva had long been a counselor and mentor to Hermione, even back during her school days. What had begun with a twelve-year old girl sitting week after week in her Head of House's office, seeking a comforting and understanding hand to help her fit into a non-fictional version of Narnia, had culminated in a friendship built upon mutual respect and care that had lasted through sixteen years and a great wizarding war.

Despite the fact they were now colleagues, and technically, Minerva was her direct supervisor, Hermione knew these informal moments they shared would remain confidential and off record, and it was for that reason she felt it safe to confide now as to the state of her deteriorated marriage, her failed affair with Draco, and her impending, unexpected motherhood.

When she was finished, Minerva's eyes were owlish and her cheeks apple-button red. "Good Godric, but you never do anything by halves do you, my dear?" she proclaimed.

Hermione couldn't help but smile at that. "I suppose that's why I was sorted Gryffindor."

"Yes, I can see that." Minerva's lips pressed together as if she were considering something. "Well, that certainly explains some things. I'll confess I've suspected Mister Malfoy has been unusually fascinated with you since your school years. The way he used to antagonise you seemed more in line with little boys pulling a girl's pigtails than the kind of rivalry he shared with Mister Potter."

"He was a foul, little ferret back then. It seems he still is. Sometimes, I wonder why I ever forgave him."

Minerva stared at her over the rims of her wiry glasses. "Although I don't like to speak ill of the staff, I'll agree he had a penchant for trying my patience as well. But I think it's fairly obvious why you allowed his pursuit of you now."

 _But I didn't_ , she almost protested, but knew that would be a lie. She did allow Draco into her circle, time and again, her objections to his passions always weakly made and halfhearted. She'd liked his attentions, liked the thrill and the challenge he presented, enjoyed his sexuality and tenderness. He'd made her feel wanted and beautiful, like every woman secretly desired.

"He's the only one of your generation clever enough to keep you on your toes and your interest piqued." She adjusted her glasses so they were back in their rightful place. "And his emotions run almost as deep as yours do, my dear. For a Slytherin, he's quite a passionate man about his work, and it would seem, his relationships."

"Passionate, but fickle," Hermione countered, feeling ill again just thinking about him unleashing all that heated sexuality on Helena Merrythought. Did he shag the young, pretty Defence teacher as lustily as he once had her?

Minerva picked her teacup back up and brought it to her lips. "Yes, I understand ferrets usually are."

* * *

 

**First weekend of February, 2007**

Hogsmeade weekends were opened back up the last weekend of January, and it was with great relief to Hermione to be able to meet up with some of the old D.A. gang down at Rosmerta's pub. Her topsy-turvy life didn't seem quite so calamitous with good friends surrounding her.

When she arrived at the Three Broomsticks, Luna was there already, sitting across from Seamus and Dean, Padma and Zacharais, Justin, Cho, and Neville. Hermione took the open seat next to Dean and ordered a hot chocolate as they waited for any others to arrive.

Stories were passed around as to what everyone had been doing since last July's annual D.A. picnic at the Potter's. Hermione learned Cho had gotten engaged to a Muggle and wanted advise as how to pop the news to him that he was marrying a witch. Seamus piped up at that, as it was a well-known fact that his mother had gone through the same thing... and done it all wrong, scaring her Muggle then-fiance nearly into the grave. Dean razzed his friend about how that explained why Seamus had come out a testicle short, and Justin had commented that he'd love to know if that were true, while tossing Sea a sexy wink. Then Luna had concurred, and everyone laughed uproariously.

The afternoon passed in much this way, with members coming and going. George and Angelina showed up as Cho called it quits, and Lee came in with Katie when Justin got up to use the loo.

"You okay?" Neville leaned over and whispered to Hermione, noting her flagging energy levels.

"Just a little tired," she admitted. "Think I could use a nap."

He'd been in the Hospital Wing when Poppy had pronounced Hermione was expecting, so he was aware of her advancing condition, and how she'd been cautioned by the elderly Matron not to overexert herself, especially as it was her first pregnancy.

He nudged her elbow. "Come on, I'll walk you to the carriages."

They said their goodbyes, with promises to see each other at the next picnic, if not sooner, and then she bundled back up in their warm woolen coats, gloves, and matching Gryffindor scarves, and headed out. It was overcast and lightly snowing, and Hermione pulled her hat down tighter over her curls.

"Thank you," she said to her friend as they made their way towards the train depot, where the carriages awaited to shuttle people back and forth between the village and the school. "I really appreciate everything you've done for me, Neville. You've been a godsend, really."

He put a hand on her arm and stopped her, giving her that same, brotherly smile he'd flashed just for her since they were children. "I'd do anything for you, 'Mione. Surely, you know that by now."

"How romantic."

Hermione's spine stiffened at the familiar, mocking voice behind her.

Neville's gaze lifted to somewhere over her left shoulder. "Malfoy," her friend politely, but coldly greeted the other man. "Merrythought," he added, his tone softening only slightly. "Good day to you both."

"Good day, Neville... Hermione," Helena offered, but her voice wavered there at the end, on Hermione's name, as if the other woman was unsure whether her greeting might be accepted or not.

She knew. Somehow, Helena had put it together that Hermione and Draco had, until recently, been together.

Heart squeezing out a painful tattoo under her ribs, Hermione tried to hold it together. She didn't turn around, but she attempted for some measure of politeness. "Hello, Helena," she greeted the other woman, her voice rough with emotion. It took her two tries just to say his name. "M-Malfoy."

"Weasley," he sneered. "How's the husband?"

Closing her eyes, Hermione wished herself anywhere else right then. She couldn't do this. She couldn't face such awful hatred, and for a reason she still didn't understand... Her throat closed, hot tears stung the back of her lids.

Her friend must have noted her on the edge and teetering over, because he took her hand in his and in a gentle voice, he said, "Come on, 'Mione. Let's get you out of the cold."

He guided her away, and like a coward, Hermione let herself be led without a word, feeling her world shrinking, her heart dying just a little bit more with each step.

"Destroy them," Draco called after her. "I don't want you ever wearing them again."

She knew exactly what he was talking about, even if the others didn't: the earrings. He wanted her to eradicate the last of the evidence of their time together, to unmake it all as if it had never been.

Her hand went to her abdomen, to where their tiny baby slept. If he knew about her, he'd want her to destroy that link, too, no doubt. He would most likely demand it, as he couldn't have a half-blood bastard as his first born, now could he?

_No!_

Red flashed before her eyes, as all the weeks of anger—no,  _months_  really, when she thought about how betrayed she'd felt by Ron the first time she'd caught him cheating, and then again by her friends who'd all but threatened her if she divorced—clawed their way to the surface, tearing past her guilt and her hurt. She'd been pushed around for too long!

Righteousness flared in her breast and from her mouth roared a lioness.

"You go straight to hell, Draco Malfoy!" she shouted, whipping her hand from Neville's and turning to face the man whose unfathomable disdain for her had tormented her for weeks, leaving her wrecked and unrecognizable, even to herself. "They're mine!  _Mine_ , do you hear me? You have no say in anything I do or have anymore, and I'll keep them if I want!" Her wand was in her hand, slipped out of its sleeve holster with a simple, non-verbal spell as she growled, "Just you try to take them from me! Just you try! I'll have you dangling, upside down from the tallest tower of Hogwarts before you can say ' _Accio!'_ "

It was a stand-off, with her brandishing a wand and bristling like some sort of lunatic porcupine and Draco staring right back at her through narrowed eyes like a serpent considering its prey. Helena looked as astonished as if someone had just told her red was a terrible lip colour, and Hermione could just imagine what Neville's expression must be right then.

"Hermione," Neville hedged, cautiously approaching her. "The children."

It was then that she realised there were students about, most of them staring at her as if she'd just unleashed her fury upon them, personally.

Jaw clenched, she stowed her wand, calmed her racing heart and got herself back under control with supreme effort... but the one thing she didn't do was back down. She turned fierce eyes on Draco and let him see in her face that his bullying of her was done. "I don't know what happened to you over the winter break, and frankly, I'm past caring now. You've made it abundantly clear how things are going to be from now on between us,  _Professor Malfoy_ ," she said in a low, hard tone as Neville shooed the voyeuristic students on their way. "Message received and noted. Fine! There are only four more months until the school year ends anyway, and after that, you won't have to worry about seeing me ever again."

As she'd just decided that come June, she was resigning and moving to Australia to start over. She'd brave the remainder of her pregnancy in a foreign land on her meager savings, living in her parent's beach-side cottage, where she'd once stowed them away as Monica and Wendell Wilkins. And after her child's birth, she'd get a job, maybe returning to Magical Law Enforcement for the Australian Ministry, and then she and Baby Granger would make it just fine on their own. Without Draco's harassment or his hatred.

"Wait, 'Mione, what do you mean by never seeing you again?" Neville began, but she cut him off before there could be too many questions that needed lies to dodge.

"I suggest until June, Malfoy, you just keep ignoring me except in a professional capacity, and I'll do my best to ignore you the same right back. And really, that shouldn't be too hard for you. I mean, it isn't as if you lack distractions, is it?" Her glance moved quickly to Helena and back, point made.

Draco said nothing, but it was clear he was furious that she'd stood up to him, and worse, that she'd refused to continue being a mouse to his cat's play.  _Tough crackers. Get over it,_ she thought and pulled her hat firmly down over her ears so she couldn't hear any parting comment he might decide to shoot off when she effectively ended the conversation with an, "Agreed? Good!"

With that, she turned and marched away, hopping into the first carriage she came to.

Thankfully, Neville had decided not to accompany her back to the castle, helping her into the carriage but deferring to join her, sensing her need for some emotional and physical space right then. Relieved to be alone to sort through her thoughts, she sat in silence, watching the snow fall outside the small, inset window in the door as the village receded and the magically-drawn conveyance took her back to her temporary home.

Well, Minerva was right: she never did anything by halves, did she?

Yes, she may have made a scene that would cause gossip throughout the school tonight, but at least she'd finally decided to no longer be victimized by her hurt feelings where Draco was concerned. He'd made his decision not to be with her, for whatever reason, so she would accept it and move on. She had more important things to consider now.

Her hand went to her abdomen again, stroking over it.

It still seemed unreal that in six months, she was going to be a mother. She'd wasn't even ten years out of school and had just really started her adulthood, and here she was, thinking she was mature enough to bring new life into the world. For Founder's sakes, she could barely support herself, and she was going into this one with all the chips down: soon to walk away from a job she'd just recently discovered she loved, moving to a new continent away from family and friends and familiarity, and having absolutely zero support from the father of her child.

The truth was, she wasn't sure she was ready for such a huge, lifetime commitment yet.

No, she'd  _have_  to be ready, wouldn't she, as there was no other choice. Not for her, not now. She was having this baby. That it was an accidental, unexpected, ill-timed pregnancy didn't matter.

Besides, she was already starting to fall in love with it. Her. Him. Whatever the sex.

"I can't tell him about you, though," she whispered to her growing child, dashing away hot tears as they filled her eyes. "It has to be our secret, yours and mine. Otherwise, he could force me to stay here, to watch him eventually marry someone else and have children with them... and stand by from the sidelines as he neglected you for them, because they'd be his legitimate heirs, while you'd just be the baby he'd made by mistake." She sniffled, and rubbed her tummy to ease her distress. "I can't do that to either of us. We both deserve better, so he can't know about you, right?"

Yes, she decided, that would be for the best. For everyone involved.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**First full week of February, 2007**

With the Valentine's House Lottery and Exchange begun this week, all of the students were aflutter with anticipation. Everyone wondered who'd they'd be paired up with once names were drawn by the staff on the seventh.

Of course, the idea of the lottery wasn't to make love matches, but new friends—preferably inter-House ones, hence the reason all student names were placed in the same bowl and mixed up. Pairs were expected to sit next to each other for meals and to answer a daily question about the other person. "What's your least favourite meal?", "If you could have any one magical creature as a pet, which would it be and why?", "Was it easier for you to learn how to tie your shoes or to read?", and "Which subjects are you best at and worst at in school?" would be among some of the questions continuously heard asked over the next few days as students filled out their partner questionnaires and turned them in daily for House points.

The exchange part would then come on the fourteenth. Each House was required to give not only a Valentine's card to their partner, but also cards to other Houses. The Heads of House worked together to decide class assignments.

Hermione, Septima, and Bathsheba were working through the complicated process when Draco walked into the Staff Room and sat down at their table to represent his House's assignments.

"Professor Malfoy, good of you to join us," Septima stated. There was a strange glimmer of knowledge in her eye when she quickly flashed Hermione a sideways smile. "Professor Nott was unavailable, I take it?"

"Theo was only temporarily sitting in for me," he said, not even glancing her way across the table. "Now that my personal situation is resolved, I can resume my regular duties."

The way he said that made it clear that he was agreeing to Hermione's terms: conciliatory behavior when they were required to interact at work, mutual avoidance otherwise.

Even though she knew this was for the best, not only for her own peace of mind, but also for co-worker relations, it still hurt to know he'd completely given up on her. To him, it was as if the last several months had never happened. They were back to being merely acquaintances.

Inwardly, she sighed with resignation, and resolutely ignored the pain in her chest. Outwardly, she turned back to her notes. Clearing her throat, she said, "So, I believe we were on Ravenclaw third years. If no one objects, I'd like to pair them with the first years from my House."

Later, when all the class card exchange pairings had been agreed upon, the four Head of House broke up the meeting and went their separate ways.

Hermione left before Draco, but she hadn't gotten far before his long-legged stride allowed him to catch up to her shorter one. "Why won't you destroy them?" he asked, walking at her side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The earrings. They were back to that again, it seemed.

And hadn't she made it clear to him that she didn't want to talk to him in anything outside a professional capacity? Why was he still harassing her?

"I realise this may come as something of a shocker to you, Malfoy, but you're not the boss of me and I don't have to do as you ask," she informed him, becoming angry all over again. She quickened her stride. "Now kindly bugger off back to the dungeons and leave me be."

He easily kept pace with her. "They shouldn't matter to you, so why keep them around? Why do you want them if they remind you of me?"

She ignored him, hurrying up the Grand Staircase to the third floor, where her classroom was located, hoping to shake him from her tail.

No such luck. Draco wouldn't be deterred by her silence or the fact that she was practically running from him by the time she was half way across the corridor. He kept right at her heels all the way to her Charms classroom, where she attempted to slam the door in his face. He caught it on the edge and shoved it open, however, and she backed away.

"I told you to leave me alone!" she barked at him.

"And I told you to get rid of the damned earrings!" he growled right back.

She slammed her notebooks down on the teacher's desk where she occasionally sat while proctoring her student's tests. "And I told you already I'd do what I want with them, as they're mine. You gave them away as a gift, and have no say in their keeping or in my use of them. Besides, how do you know I haven't already disposed of them?"

He reached up and tapped a sapphire stud piercing in his left ear. "They were part of a matching set, and I can still see through them. You took them out for a few minutes last night, in fact."

That gave her pause. She stared at him, playing connect-the-dots between what he'd previously said on the subject and his bizarre behaviour towards her since the holiday break.

_"You didn't really think those earrings I gave you were simple mundane things, did you?"_

_"Did you have fun at the Weasel's house for the break?"_

_"You suppose? Funny, I thought you were in a position to intimately know."_

The truth hit her between the eyes with all the shattering force of a bullet to the brain. "Oh, my god! You've been using them to  _spy_  on me?" Incredulity wrestled with fury for control of her temper. Her fingers curled into her palms and her nails cut deep gouges into her skin in her effort to hold back the tide of her wrath. "You... you... oooh, there isn't a word yet invented to describe how thoroughly despicable you are, Draco Malfoy, but when they make one up, I'm nominating your picture be pasted next to it for all time!"

Draco's sneer was a black mark on an otherwise handsome face. "They weren't meant for spying, you moptop! They were meant to connect us, so we could see and talk to each other when we're apart!"

Hermione gaped at him in astonishment. "Mop–!" Scowling, she marched up to him and poked him in the chest with her wand. "That's it! I've had it with you! Six years I put up with your jokes about my hair. You make one more, Malfoy, just one, and you'll be eating your testicles for dinner, you slimy snake!" She stood on tip-toe just to make her point about how little he intimidated her. "And for the record: how on Io was I supposed to know your 'gift' was anything but a pretty piece of jewellery, anyway? It's not as if you volunteered that information when you put them in my ears!"

"You're the  _Charms_  professor, Weasley! It didn't once occur to you to cast an identification spell on them to check if they were real sapphires and diamonds, much less had any spells on them?" he shot back.

"No, it didn't!" she ground out between clenched teeth.

"Well, no wonder you didn't get sorted into Slytherin!"

"And thank Godric for that!" she snarled right back at him.

He glared at her like a bull facing a red cape.

She did the same, until she realised how utterly ridiculous they both looked and sounded. It was like they were fifteen all over again, fighting over inconsequential things. What was done was done; she'd just be sure the next time she went to her room that she'd break the spell upon the earrings, and then she'd consider whether to sell them or reset them into something else. Perhaps a nice brooch instead.

With a disdainful sniff, she turned her back on Draco and collected her notebooks from the desk, then opened one of the sliding drawers on its side and deposited them inside. "I will only say this one more time, so get it through that thick head of yours: the earrings are mine and I'm keeping them, and you can't do a damned thing about that. Now, if that was all, I have things to accomplish today," she said, making it abundantly clear that the discussion was over as far as she was concerned.

Draco couldn't let it go, though. He'd throttled down on the hostility, but like a rabid dog with a bone, he seemed determined to get to the bottom of her reluctance to part with his present to her.

"Seriously, what kind of woman doesn't at least appraise gifted jewellery for authenticity and value?" he muttered, as if bewildered by the prospect. "It's important!"

Hermione threw her hands in the air in frustration. "Sorry, but it seems my rose-coloured glasses were clearly inhibiting not only my vision, but my sanity, then," she said, fuming, hating the way the sarcasm tasted across her tongue. "And for the record: the cost of a gift might be important to the women who tend to play the pure-blood 'hound hunt', like you're used to, but to me, it's less about the cost and rarity of a gift, and more about the effort and thoughtfulness put into it that gives it value."

She stood up and headed for the door, so done with this conversation. The reason for his irrational anger at her now made complete sense, and it boiled her blood to know that not only had he not trusted her enough, but worse that he wouldn't allow her a space to explain the misunderstanding. Apparently, he'd made up his mind about her time with Ron before she'd even stepped off the train onto the Hogsmeade platform; she'd been judged and found guilty without the benefit of defence.

Fine. She didn't want to be with a judgmental fool of a man like that anyway.

"Besides, call me mad, but I sort-of took it on faith that you weren't the type of wizard who would pass off cheap imitations on a woman you'd professed to love," she tossed out the parting shot, wanting to stick it to him for everything he'd put her through over the last month.

He stopped her from leaving, though, cutting off the narrow space between the teacher's desk and the exit with his bigger body. "They weren't fakes or imperfect pieces, I assure you. They're heirlooms, from my paternal grandmother. And they did their job too well, at least on my end of things." He leaned over her, close enough that she could practically taste the Firewhisky on his breath that he'd obvious imbibed before the staff meeting. "I saw you through them, in my head, you know. All I had to do was focus and there you were there in my mind." His anger was back in full force as he sneered down at her. "And how surprised was I to see you and your spotted husband holding hands and playing about like you were having the cock-sucking time of your life! Why, it was like you weren't even having an affair with me behind his back."

He left it unsaid, but Hermione could almost hear the accusation sitting between them in the ugly space that had once more opened up:

 _Like I didn't mean anything to you_.

"That had to have been the quickest reconciliation in the history of almost break-ups," he continued taunting her. "What'd he offer you to take him back and forget his infidelity—a week-long honeymoon in the Bahamas, away from all this lovely English-Scottish weather and the memory of Lavender Brown?"

"Draco, stop it. It wasn't‒" she began, thinking maybe it would be better to just throw the truth out there, for the sake of closure.

He cut her off before she could begin, however. "Save it for someone who will believe your lies!" he hissed. "I  _saw_  you, sleeping together, cuddling up, playing in the snow like young lovers. And let's not forget that passionate kiss you shared at the train station, shall we?" He shuddered and stepped back from her, as if he was afraid of being too close to her right then, as if he couldn't trust himself not to grab her and start shaking her hard enough to rattle teeth. "Do you know how difficult it was to close off my head every night when I watched you crawl into bed next to him? I had to take the bloody stud out of my ear before you started shagging him, or I'd have gone mad!"

"We didn't‒" she tried again, but he cut her off a second time, slamming his hand down on her desk so hard, the sharp wrap hurt her ears.

"I fucking  _loved_  you!" he shouted at her.

Hermione flinched and stepped away from him. It wasn't his anger that drove her back once more, but his words. He'd always known how to use them to destroy her.

He'd loved her, as in past tense. As in, he didn't feel that way anymore.

Mentally, she'd known that. He'd told her he didn't want her, and he'd been sleeping with another woman, flaunting that fact, throwing it in her face. Emotionally, though, it still hurt to hear the words, especially as they confirmed the fact that they were, indeed, very much over. The wound she'd hastily sewn up over her heart over the last five weeks tore open, her poor stitching coming loose. She grabbed at the space over her breast where it hurt the worst and squeezed, as if she could prevent it from bleeding out.

To her surprise, Draco was in no better shape.

Red-cheeked and teary-eyed, he scrubbed a hand over his face in embarrassment, as if to hide his feelings. "Do you know how hard it was for me to even believe that something incredible like that could still exist for me after everything that's happened?" He gripped his left forearm, where the lingering evidence of the Dark Mark lay like a stain upon him, a constant reminder of his bad choices. "I never thought I'd be capable of feeling anything good ever again after getting Marked."

And she'd never thought she'd love again after catching her husband having sex with another woman. Funny how pain brought about its own type of blessings later.

"Draco, please‒"

"And you... you're a fucking goddess among women, Granger!" he talked right over her, as if afraid to hear her version of things, perhaps because he expected her to confirm everything he'd seen. "Everyone loves you, wants to be you, wants to have you! And for a few weeks there, I was the lucky one—you were  _mine_. You wanted me just as much as I'd wanted you!"

Restraining her desire to respond, she leaned back against the nearest desk to settle in for a bit and instead, listened. It seemed Draco was finally ready to talk, so she'd let him. She'd let him bleed away all the poisonous jealousy that had infected his thinking for over the last month without interruption.

"But really, you weren't mine at all, were you?" he continued. His expression was twisted by the savage green-eyed monster, making him more the Death Eaters he'd been associated with, than the man he'd become over the years. "You were always  _his_ , even back in school. All Weasley would have to do was snap his fingers and you'd go running to him like a well-trained Crup."

...and she'd let him dig his grave even deeper.

"He manipulated you easily. You'd do his assignments for him, lie to keep him out of trouble, and I even saw you the night of the Yule Ball, how he made you cry with just a few accusations. He tormented you with the Brown bint in sixth year, and I'd seen in the papers how he'd been seen around the Ministry parading her like his mistress... and yet you married him anyway! You stayed married to him even after catching him cheating! He's a sleazy weasel of a man whose only talent has ever been hurting you, and still, you preferred him to me!

Oh, she couldn't wait for her turn!

"But you know the absolute worst part of all of it? Every day we were apart, even knowing you were back together with that no good, ginger gimp, I sat in that museum of a home my parents live in and wished I was with you instead." He laughed, and it was a sad and bitter sound. "I wanted the woman who was using me for her temporary amusement more than I wanted my own family! I chose to end my great house's thousand-year pure-blood dynasty on a woman who hadn't really ever loved me! How pathetic is that?"

Okay, he was now past wallowing in the shallow end of self-pity, and was swimming for the deeps. It was time to get out of the pool.

And really she had no intention of sitting through any more misplaced blame, either.

"Are you quite done?" she asked him, calmly meeting his gaze.

He stared down at her with disgust turning his lip up at the corner. "Sure, who fucking cares anyway, right? It's over."

She rolled her eyes.

Then, she slapped his cheek. Hard.

"Now you listen here, Draco Malfoy, I've had just about enough of your stupidity! What you thought you saw in the earrings was a misinterpretation of events." He opened his mouth to debate her and she pointed a threatening finger at him. "Not another word from you. You've had your say and then some, so now it's my turn! And you are going to listen this time!"

Taking a deep breath, she didn't give him a chance to fight back. She simply laid into him.

"I went to the Burrow at Christmas for one main purpose: to inform Ron that we were getting a divorce. I'd made my choice, and it was you."

Draco jerked as if she'd struck him again, but there was little satisfaction to be found from his surprise, only hurt that he hadn't trusted her enough to know she'd meant it when she'd told him of her love for him.

"The first thing we discussed when he and I met was the ending our marriage," she told him, "which he conceded to do without a fight. The second was to agree not to ruin the holiday for the others with our news, so we decided to continue on as if nothing had changed in front of the Weasleys and Harry's family. We figured we'd tell them after the new year, so as not to spoil the mood for everyone else."

He opened his mouth a second time, and she held up her hand, refusing to hear another word from him until she was finished.

"In order to maintain the fiction that nothing was wrong between us, we slept in the same room. What you didn't see, however, was that we shared that room with Ron's older brother, Charlie, who slept in the bed across the way. The Burrow is not like Malfoy Manor. It doesn't have a surfeit of rooms or space. Everyone had to bunk down together to fit. Had I not slept in the same bed as my husband, Charlie would definitely have noticed, and then there would have been questions asked and comments made. We did nothing but sleep in that bed together, literally."

"I saw you kiss him!" he protested.

"I'll get to that," she made it clear. "As for the accusation you made about Ron and I frolicking around in the snow together like 'young lovers', it was more like 'best friends'. We'd both accepted that our marriage was over after our talk, and that decision completely changed the dynamic between us. It freed us both, and we were able to recapture the friendship we'd had when we'd been children—the times you didn't see, where we actually had fun. He never touched me inappropriately, or vice-versa during our time together at the Burrow."

"No, you saved it for the train station." He grimaced, as if the memory of that vision made him ill.

She sighed, suddenly feeling fifty shades of exhausted, not just from the fighting, but from the pregnancy. Who knew it was going to sap this much of her energy reserves? What she wanted more than anything then was to just have a lie down for an hour or two.

"We were saying goodbye, Draco."

He crossed his arms, doubt darkening his expression, but hanging on to his stubborn resolve when he insisted, "It was crossing a line."

"Oh, my god, you can't seriously be that petty!" She nearly screamed behind her teeth in tired frustration. "You said it yourself: Ron and I had been together for years, through all the ups and downs of growing up. Through a bloody  _war_. And our marriage was really, finally over. What was the harm in one last kiss to send it off properly? Honestly, there was no other feeling behind it, not for me. It was more ritual than anything else. And I was actually looking forward to coming home to you, you nitwit!"

He seemed wary, unsure whether to trust what he'd seen versus what she'd told him.

"Merlin, you Slytherins really mess each other up in the head, don't you? You don't know how to trust." She shook her head. "How does your lot ever make friends, much less marriages."

With that, she angled around him and continued towards the door, where she'd initially been heading.

"Wait," Draco called after her. The 'please' came a little less willingly, as he choked on it.

She paused with her hand on the door knob, heart pounding, waiting.

"I... I thought..."

He stalled, and Hermione realised he couldn't say the words she needed to hear. He still couldn't admit he'd been wrong.

"I know what you thought. You've made that quite clear," she said. "Now here's what I think: I'm not the only one who was broken when we started this. You have serious trust issues, otherwise, why not just give me a mundane bracelet and Fire-call me whenever you were lonely? No, you gave me those charmed earrings for a reason, even if you aren't honest enough with yourself to admit it."

She turned her head over her shoulder to look at him, sad that they'd come to this at last.

"And you can be terribly cruel when you put your mind to it, Draco. That may give you an edge politically, but not romantically. At least, not with me. I'm not into pain anymore."

Walking away hurt, but at least she could respect herself for having the strength to do it without tears this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that answers some questions, but there's still the issue of Helena Merrythought and a serious amount of groveling for forgiveness on Draco's part. Don't worry, though, we'll get to that bit soon.
> 
> Also, please be aware that this is a happily-ever-after tale, so no sad endings here. It's going to follow the same basic format as revision 1.0 in that respect, so hang in there!
> 
> Please review, if you would be so kind! I'd love you oodles. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lemniscate is the infinity symbol in mathematics.

**Mid-February, 2007**

At fourteen and a half weeks along, the nausea had finally stopped. Hermione sent up a silent prayer to all the Founders for that good fortune.

Unfortunately, the acid reflux she'd been experiencing had gone in the complete opposite direction and had only gotten worse. It became particular potent during the wee hours of the night, usually waking her from a sound sleep.

Consequently, she'd taken to keeping a box of Rennies by her bedside. The simple Muggle remedy, coupled with the potions Madam Pomfrey had proscribed for her, allowed her to have relatively 'normal' days. She was thankful for that small boon, because it permitted her to focus on her teaching obligations, and for a little while, to forget her physical illnesses brought on by her continuing pregnancy.

The Bayer Company's miracle medicine and Poppy's wondrous remedies did nothing to alleviate Hermione's sadness, however…

A failed marriage.

Strained friendships.

A bombed career at the Ministry.

A love affair that had crashed and burned.

That last hurt most of all, especially as she still had no closure with Draco about their latest fight. Her resentment lingered, and its poison hobbled her like an infected wound.

Why couldn't he just say he was sorry?

Why couldn't he admit he'd been wrong to mistrust her?

Actually, she knew the answer to the second question already, and if she were being totally honest about it, she knew Draco's Slytherin sensibilities weren't solely to blame. She'd had just as much a hand in preventing trust from building between them, with her dogged reluctance to leave behind her dead marriage to Ron. Her lover's paranoia that she'd just use and lose him, and go back to her husband hadn't been a farfetched possibility, really, and she was big enough to own her portion of the fault there.

Still, that sort of worry didn't excuse Draco's sneakiness. Spying on her had been underhanded and wrong.

—Not that she had room to throw stones when it came to taking the low road, especially given the type of plotting she'd engaged in during her Hogwarts career, specifically when dealing with the likes of Umbridge, Skeeter, and McLaggen. And how she'd bald-faced lied to Ron to get him to marry her years later. And how she'd been having sex outside her marriage bed just two short months ago. And…

With a mental jerk, she stopped and got off that emotional roller-coaster before she spiraled into another fit of depression.

Bad enough she was taking a pregnancy-safe Calming Draught sometimes to deal with her irrational hormonal fluctuations, which could send her spinning into a bout of hysterical tears or fire her into a raging fury at the drop of a hat, particularly when there was no chocolate nearby. She didn't need to brow-beat a list of her own short-comings.

And really, the issue this time was Draco, not her.

She considered again his stubborn refusal to apologize to her… Yes, he had an overinflated ego in general, but he wasn't _that_ prideful, especially in the aftermath of the war. He'd been the one to pursue her, after all, which had required him to set aside any lingering prejudices he might have had and to view her as his equal. If that didn't serve as an example of swallowing one's pride, she didn't know what qualified.

So, what was preventing him from saying he was sorry to her now?

Exasperated by the entire ridiculous situation, Hermione ripped away the tie that bound back her braided hair and set it free from its tight hold upon her. "Ooh, men can be so block-headed sometimes!" she fumed as she shook her hair loose, thinking of not just her lover, but her ex-husband and Harry, and in fact most of the boys she'd grown up with at Hogwarts. "They're frustrating and unreasonable, narcissistic and juvenile…"

Her sudden anger deflated just as quickly as it blew over her. With a great sigh, she reached down and patted her expanding belly with a wry smile.

"They'd probably say the same thing about women, I bet—especially during pregnancy."

The ten o'clock bell tolled, announcing final curfew.

Hermione glanced up at her Muggle clock on the wall, assuring it matched (in a magical castle, one never knew), and as the final bong rang out, she went through her mental list of what would happen next: the Prefect patrols would be ending, the library would be shutting its doors, the kitchen and laundry would close, the portraits would settle down for the night, and the Bloody Baron would begin his haunting of the Astronomy Tower to assure no strays were using it for illicit activities.

She tried hard not to obsess about what Draco might be doing just then, although her gaze did stray to the box where she kept the earrings he'd given her. They were a two-way link, he'd said, and she knew he still wore his earring, despite everything…"No!" she insisted, turning away and resisting the temptation.

After all, if she used them, she'd be the biggest hypocrite on the planet.

She glanced at her clock again. It was time for bed, but to her chagrin, Hermione found she wasn't in the least bit tired.

Outside her windows, a thick, wet sleet could be heard coming down in sheets, slapping against the castle's walls and its ancient stone paths. A wintery wind accompanied the icy downpour, howling through the trees of the nearby forest.

Another storm was blowing in.

Perfect timing, as it matched her mood.

Shoving aside her pile of student papers to grade, Hermione stood up and channeled her nervous energy into something more productive than brooding about her circumstances or the greying weather: she did the exercises Madam Pomfrey had told her would help the aching in her pelvis. Then, when she'd finished with those, just because she was still feeling antsy, she tried out some Kegels. The Muggle doctor she'd gone to see over the weekend had recommended them, and although it felt silly doing them, she'd read about how important it was the keep allher muscles strong during pregnancy to make bearing the extra weight and the labour easier.

She'd gotten to the count of ten when the pressure on her bladder suddenly made her aware of the need to urinate _again_ , so she rushed off to the bathroom.

This pregnancy was going to drive her mad before it was over! Why hadn't anyone told her the _real_ truth about being in this way? None of the books on pregnancy she'd read over the last few weeks had said anything about the constant need to pee, or the random vertigo while walking down the stairs, or that her hips would ache so badly some days that the bones felt as if they were grinding against each other, or that her nipples would be so sore that wearing a bra was physically painful, or how blasted tired she'd be all the time! They all talked about this period as if it were a gentle lead-in to the third trimester, using terms like, 'slightly tender' or 'mild discomfort' or 'a gradual displacement' to discuss the massive continental shift going on inside her body. Worst, they discussed the insatiable food cravings and weird phantom smell issues she was experiencing as, 'evolving senses' and 'a natural occurrence of eating for two'…as if wanting peanut butter smeared over kippers or pistachio ice cream served on top of a raw, bloody steak was natural.

Well, she thought as she sat on the toilet and did her business, at least she wasn't vomiting anymore. Hurrah.

**~.~.~**

When she finished in the loo, Hermione washed her hands…and paused to stare at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

She looked pale and tired, her hair was a frizzy mess, and her eyes were sad, as if all the fire had gone out of her.

Turning to the side, she lifted her jumper and blouse, glancing at her belly in the mirror. Her baby bump was definitely visible now. It was time to start employing those 'slimming' glamour charms to hide the evidence.

Bugger.

Heading back into her adjoining bedchamber, she decided to call it an evening. Waving her wand at her door, she assured it was locked up tight, and then shuffled into a pair of warm, Muggle pyjamas and huddled under the covers.

She laid there for a long time, listening to the crackling fire in the hearth compete with the wind outside, thinking over everything again. The ceiling got wavy as hot tears gathered and slipped down the sides of her face.

Fat and ugly, and ill all the time—that's what she'd become as a result of having Draco Malfoy's baby.

…And Helena Merrythought was healthy and beautiful, slim and spirited. She was brash and fun for a Hufflepuff, dancing up a ruckus that could put the storm outside to shame. Most importantly, she wasn't a noose around Draco's neck, but an ornament for his arm and a dynamic force in his bed.

Merlin, it was no wonder why he wasn't concerned in the slightest with apologizing to her, much less making things up.

* * *

  **Mid-February, 2007 – The Next Day**

 

The fourteenth of February had proved to be a very exciting day, indeed.

At breakfast, not only had Hermione received a parcel of lovely Valentine's cards from her students (one an actual marriage proposal from a seventh year), but also an exotic herbal tea sampler from Minerva ("To help you keep calm, dear."), a potted bonsai rose bush that sang "Lean On Me" from Neville (it was the thought that counted, she knew), a bouquet of dried flying seahorses from Hagrid (…), and a big, heart-shaped box of chocolates from Ron ( _"Better late than never, yeah? Happy Valentine's, Hermione."_ ).

Then, later at lunch, a massive G.R.O. owl swooped down into the dining hall and deposited a document tube in front of her. Her finalized divorce paperwork had finally arrived—in front of the entire assembly.

Hermione's hands shook with anticipation as she presented the bird a piece of her roll for a treat, but she set the tube down as if it was of no major consequence, not wanting to make any more of a production than the giant eagle owl already had as it took off once more.

Ignoring the curious stares she received from students and staff alike, she finished her meal as calmly as possible, and afterwards, returned to her private quarters to pour over the received documents, checking for any possible mistakes which could possibly alter or reverse the divorce proceedings. It wasn't until she'd reached the end, and assured all required signatures were in place that she'd let out the breath she'd unconsciously been holding.

It was done. She'd turned another corner in her life, and was once more simply Hermione Jean Granger.

* * *

  **Mid-February, 2007 – That Night**

 

Draco was not present at dinner that evening when she quietly addressed the staff table with her news.

Not knowing the circumstances behind her divorce, she received a fair number of condolences from her co-workers over the ending of her marriage. Neville actually hugged her, Minerva gave her hand a small squeeze in support, and Hagrid began bawling (she'd ended up having to comfort him, explaining that it had been an agreeable end and that she and Ron would continue to be friends).

Septima simply smiled at her. "The lemniscate never lies: an ending always brings a new beginning," the older witch commented in a curious, mysterious manner. Her dark gaze dipped quickly to Hermione's belly, where the glamours were firmly in place to hide her condition from the world. When she glanced back up, she winked at Hermione. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me, dear one."

Shaken by the encounter, Hermione moved on to return to her assigned seat at the high table. In the back of her mind, however, she vowed to go back and study the gift Septima had given her at Christmas, wondering if her pregnancy had been numerically calculated on that chart, or if Poppy had been sharing secrets with her oldest school friend over hot toddies at The Three Broomsticks again.

To her surprise, as she passed by her, Helena Merrythought looked up from her meal. The woman gave Hermione a small nod to convey her sympathies at the news of her divorce as well, and she seemed quite sincere in the effort. Taking the higher road, she acknowledged Helena's kindness with a nod of her own.

Doubling the impact, to Helena's left, Theodore Nott sat eyeing Hermione—not with hostility any longer, but with a wary interest, as if he was considering the idea that he might have misjudged her after all. To him, she wasn't feeling quite so conciliatory, however. His loyalty to Draco's feelings had been commendable, yes, but he'd acted like a complete prat to her since the return from winter break. Working with him for those short four weeks of January as he'd taken over the role of Slytherin's Head of House had been an exercise in mounting frustration to say the least, as he'd made it a habit of smiling at and agreeing to every single one of her requests…and then ignoring them completely.

Git.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Rather than insult him, however, she'd merely served to amuse him. A nettling smirk slowly wound its way up Theodore's cheek, reminding her once more of a Kneazle up to no good.

 _Degenerate muppet,_ she thought with a huff and moved on.

Truly, Theodore Nott was positively incorrigible, a rascal of questionable moral character. She felt sorry for whoever ended up with him.

* * *

  **Mid-February, 2007 – The Next Day**

 

"How're you feeling?" Neville asked her, slightly out of breath as they climbed the winding West Tower stairs to the Owlery together. They may have been doing this up-and-down game for over a decade, but it never got any easier, Hermione thought as she forced her feet to keep going, despite how tired she was right then.

"Better. The potions Poppy is giving me are keeping me from a repeat all over your shoes, at least."

"That's good, since these are new shoes," her friend said with a grin. "Had to bin the last pair."

She winced. "At least let me reimburse you for that."

"You will," he stated with all confidence. "You'll name your first born after me. 'Neville Wilfred Granger' isn't so bad, right?"

She glanced sideways at him. "Your middle name is 'Wilfred'?"

He winced. "Yeah, we can thank my Gran-pappy for that. It was his name."

What could one say to that?

"At least 'Neville' is cool. It was the name of a powerful, prominent family in Muggle Mediaeval England."

His mouth dropped open in surprise at that. "It was?"

Hermione nodded. "Oh, yes. It was Ralph Neville who helped to found the English Peerage. There was also a Neville who was Archbishop of York, and another who served Richard II as an advisor. And the Neville family itself was intimately involved in the War of the Roses, which was one of the most important dynastic struggles for the British royal crown in the country's history." She gave him a good-hearted slap on the arm. "Your name is really quite famous…and infamous in Muggle history. You really ought to research it."

"Maybe I will."

Neville held the door for her once they'd reached the top.

"So, how are you and Hannah?" she asked, curious as to how other people's love lives were going along, now that hers was officially dead in the water.

He blushed, and gave a silly grin.

Hermione stopped and gaped at him. "Oh, my God, you…the two of you… _you know?_ "

Ever the gentleman, he didn't confirm nor deny that fact, but the truth was written all over his face.

"You did!" she squealed, feeling truly happy for the first time in weeks. "Oh, Neville, I'm so happy for you both!"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well…she's agreed to my suit," he said, seeming relieved by that fact. "Finally."

Hermione understood that, in the wizarding world, when one partner in a relationship decided such a thing, that meant the couple was now exclusive, and one step away from a marriage proposal.

"What wonderful news!" she said, reaching into the satchel on her hip and pulling out her 'thank you' letter to Ron for his Valentine's chocolates. In gifting them to her, he'd been thoughtful (for the first time, really), and she wanted to encourage that general change in his behaviour. Besides, she'd been taught as a child that it was only polite to thank someone for a gift with a hand-written note. "You two are perfect for each other."

"You think?" he sincerely asked, handing an owl his letter addressed to his Gran. "It's just that…after Luna…"

He and Luna had given it a go just after the war had ended, but their friend's wanderlust and obsessive search for 'the unknown' had taken her away from England, leaving Neville behind and brokenhearted. It had taken a long time for him to crawl out of his shell and try again.

"Absolutely. Just don't forget to invite me to the wedding."

"I won't," he promised.

Well, she thought, as they made their way back down to the lower halls, at least she'd get to attend another wedding in the near future, even if it wasn't to be her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> This is the prerequisite self-pitying, all-time-low chapter every protagonist must go through before they come out the other end of misery and find happiness again (besides, Hermione's pregnant and hormonal, which tends to make a girl slightly crazy…been there, done that). Don't worry, dearlings, Hermione will snap back soon.
> 
> Coming up…her next encounter with Draco!
> 
> Please review, if you would! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Mid-February, 2007 – Two Days Later**

Usually, Friday nights at the library were quiet and uneventful, peaceful even as the bulk of Hogwarts' students tended to gravitate towards more exciting adventures than homework and card cataloguing at the start of their weekend—usually something involving sharing secrets, risqué dares, and drinking bootleg alcoholic beverages (sometimes, all three at the same time).

Tonight would not be one of those nights.

Hermione had come to Madam Pince's territory to research the history and organization of the Australian Ministry, determined to reclaim her chosen career path there, since she'd decided to move down under this summer.

The excuse also gave her time to research magical pregnancies, and analyze how they differed from Muggle pregnancies.

Skimming the table of contents of Alwina Appleby's _What to Expect When Expecting a Little Witch or Wizard_ , she opened it to chapter 11, "How Your Baby Is Growing: 15 Weeks." There, in the middle of the page, was an artist's coloured rendition of a peachy-pink foetus, eyes sealed shut, small hands balled into fists, positioned right-side up and leaning forward at an angle. A long umbilical cord stretched from its belly to attach to the uterine wall, providing it the nutrients it needed until it was fully developed and could sustain itself without the mother's help.

Hermione stroked a finger over the tiny skull and traced the slope of its nose. Is this how her baby looked, too? How strange it was to think that a miniature person was forming inside her.

The text on the page beneath the picture explained that her child was approximately four inches long now, that its taste buds were beginning to develop, and that it could probably sense light as well.

As she read on, she grew excited: this was the first week she'd be able to tell the sex of the child!

Shutting the book, she put it in her satchel, flip-flopping on the idea of going to see Poppy soon to ask for a gender check. Did she want to know, or keep it a surprise, though?

Lost for a moment in the thoughts of how she'd feel about first a boy, then a girl, she didn't hear Draco approach until he was already leaning against a nearby bookshelf and staring down at her. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive, woolen trousers, his long fringe flopping into his eyes, and he'd adopted a casual air that made it seem he'd just dropped in to bring a little 'sexy' to the room.

Git or not, the man definitely knew how to strike a pose, she'd give him that.

"It's official then: you're divorced."

He sounded careful and casual, as if he were asking out of politeness, rather than personal curiosity.

Well, two could play at that game…

Hermione shrugged, and began collecting her small pile of books, slipping them one at a time inside her dragon hide briefcase, careful not to let Draco see the text she'd been reading when he'd walked up.

"Obviously, since I'm going with my maiden name now."

She hadn't expected to be disturbed in her favourite sanctuary tonight, much less engage in a confrontation with Draco there—especially one he'd initiated without an apology. She needed to regroup, emotionally fortify…take a bloody Calming Draught for her nerves before she got another nosebleed from the stress.

Seriously, pregnancy hormones were the worst.

Pushing her chair out, she grabbed her attaché and headed out of the library without another word, her heart pounding madly in her chest as she hurried through the hallways and up stairs.

She wasn't running away, she _wasn't._ This was refusing to have a conversation on his terms. He owed her an apology, damn it all, and until he was man enough to offer one up, she didn't want to speak to him!

At least, that's what she'd convinced herself by the time she'd hit her floor and headed down the hall towards her room. By then, she'd worked herself up into a righteous fury, her emotions once more pinging from one extreme to the other faster than she could blink an eye.

Draco, who had been trailing after her (again), caught her arm and effectively stopped her when she'd reached the door to her private chambers.

"We're not together!"

Feeling her edges fraying, Hermione barked a short, slightly hysterical-sounding laugh. "Yes, I'm well aware. Tell me something I, and the rest of the bloody castle, don't know, Malfoy."

He _tsked_. "No, I mean Merryweather and me. We're not together," he clarified with a guilty expression. "We…we never have been. I never really dated her."

The world seemed to tilt a bit.

Hermione's lungs emptied in one great whoosh, as if she'd been nailed right in the solar plexus with a Blasting spell. "Explain," she hissed, feeling a muscle beneath her eye begin to twitch.

Draco sighed, looking quite deflated in that moment. "It was all a ruse we concocted. I wanted to make you jealous, to realise what you'd tossed aside."

She was pretty sure her eyes bugged, then, as she couldn't believe was she was hearing.

That disbelief must have been evident in her expression, because Draco reacted to it. "What did you expect, Granger? I'm Slytherin. This is how my kind get our point across. We punish others by hitting where it hurts. And I'm apparently also an arsehole who sees the worst in all things, and a petty, immature fucker where love's concerned." He pulled his hand away and sullenly shoved it back into his pocket. "I fuck good things up. That's what I do."

"And what was Helen's excuse?" she asked, grinding her back teeth into dust.

"Merryweather wanted to make someone else just as jealous, someone she fancies. He's been dragging his heels on committing to her, so she wanted to make it clear that she had other options. We weren't really dating at all."

Hermione growled, feeling her ears begin to ring from her mounting blood pressure. "You're standing here telling me that you two _made it all up?!_ "

Draco wasn't exactly the wisest man on the planet, but he was certainly no village idiot, either. He felt and heard her anger, recognised the danger, and took a cautious step backwards so he was out of arm's reach. "Before you take my head off, in my defence, after everything I saw through the earrings, I was furious with you," he quickly stated. "I'd thought… Hell, you know what I thought, Granger. I'd thought you were playing me for a fool. I'd wanted to‒"

He paused, seemed to carefully consider his words then.

"That day in the dungeon corridor, when you finally admitted to feeling something deeper for me...it was a fucking revelation," he admitted. "Years of being blacklisted, outcast, seen as only the shite ex-Death Eater, _persona non grata,_ it all seemed to just...not matter anymore." He glanced at her with a half-shuttered gaze. "Because I had you on my side."

"Kissing up to me is not winning you any points," she reminded him in a hard tone. "And it's as far from an apology as you can get."

"I'm not kiss‒" He stalled again, sighed, and ran a hand through his fringe, pushing it back out of his face. "I was angry at you. So bloody angry I nearly drank myself into the grave every night over break."

"That's on you, because you didn't trust me!" she hurled back at him, feeling suddenly attacked, as if this whole conversation had turned on its head when she wasn't looking, and now needed to defend herself. "Don't you dare try to make me feel guilty for something that was innocent on my side." She pointed a menacing finger at him. "And don't you deflect from the fact that you were spying on me in the first place, you miserable rodent!"

He held his hands out again in a pacifying gesture. "I'm not doing either thing, I swear! I was just explaining where my head was then. Here was this...perfect woman...and she'd accepted me, despite everything between us and my past, and then it all just crashed and burned. I was caught flat-footed. I wasn't thinking rationally, Granger. My eyes were telling me I'd been tricked, and I was blinded by jealousy and bitterness. I was resentful of how life kept fucking me hard. I admit I...I didn't handle it well."

She huffed, dropping her hand. "Understatement of the year."

"I've never been in love before," he admitted a bit heatedly. "It's not as if such a thing comes with a manual. I could only go on what I knew and on what I was trained to be."

That floored her. Draco Malfoy had never loved a woman before her?

Hermione glanced at him skeptically. "You've never had a girlfriend before me?"

He rolled his eyes. "You make me sound like a twonk, Granger. Of course I've had a girlfriend. You recall Pansy Parkinson, don't you?" He sighed. "After the war, though, I couldn't get a witch to look twice at me."

"But you've had enough sex to know what to do to melt the knickers off a girl!" she accused, crossing her arms and staring him down. "Don't bother denying it."

He shrugged, and took up a position against the opposite side of the door jamb, facing her, casually leaning against the stone. "There's plenty of destructive things to find in the Muggle world to keep one busy, including uninhibited sexual excess." His lids shuttered with growing arousal and that sexy smirk that had always sent her heart into palpitations crawled up the side of his cheek. "You certainly seemed to enjoy the benefits from those experiences."

Ignoring the way her cheeks heated at his innuendo, Hermione refused to be derailed. She was angry at him for deceiving her—not just once, but twice. "So, you're saying all those women were good enough to...to..."

Have sex with? Engage in intercourse? Ride stallion? How did one say such a thing without sounding totally crass?

"Fuck?" he supplied, his smirk widening and his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yes, that," she reluctantly agreed with an aggravated sigh at his antics, "but not to love?"

"I never invested in any of them for more than a one-off," he admitted, "but we were all adults, Granger. It was sex for fun. No promises were made, nor required by anyone." His amusement dropped away in an instant, and suddenly, he was all business again. "Not until you."

"That's because I don't do casual. And anyway, I didn't ask for you to pursue me," she reminded him.

He stared at her for a long minute, his gaze softening in a way she'd only ever seen from him in the afterglow of sex. "No, you didn't. But...I couldn't seem to help myself," he finally confessed.

Hermione found it difficult to look at him after such a raw admission, feeling oddly vulnerable in the face of it, and so she dropped her gaze to the floor. "Honestly, I don't care how many women you've been with. What matters is that you lied to me, Draco— _again_. You misled me on purpose just to cut at me." Her mood, swinging wildly between outrage and misery, gave rise to a tide of hateful tears. Angrily, she brushed them back from her eyes. "Thinking of you with Helen, like that... It was like someone had stabbed me over and over again," she choked, pressing her trembling hands to her heart. "Every day, I wanted to die."

He shuddered and bowed his head. "That's exactly how I felt seeing you with Weasley."

Of everything he could have said, _that_ was the thing that finally made her cry.

"I never intended to make you feel like that," she sobbed, her chest heaving from the pain, "and I'm sorry that you did, but you know it wasn't intentional." She shook so hard from all the pent-up emotion burbling forth that she had to reach out and hold onto her door for support. "What you did, though, that was cruel, Draco. You hurt me just because you could. You broke me on purpose!"

"Granger...I..."

With an agonized expression on his face, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. For her part, she went to him without complaint, tired of the fighting, desperate to hold him, too.

Holding her close to his heart, his tears mingled with hers as he bent his head in shame. "God, I'm so sorry, Hermione! I was a bitter, spiteful shit, and I hurt you, and I'm sorry. Sorry I doubted you. Sorry I misled you about the earrings and about Helen. Sorry I haven't learned how to be a person worthy of your love. Sorry I always fuck things up by being so petty. And you're right when you say I'm selfish and a little broken, and that I don't deserve you. I know I don't, especially after everything that's happened between us. I know it now more than I ever have before." He pressed his face into her throat, clearly fearful that his words wouldn't be enough to convince her. "But I _want_ to. Merlin, I want to be that man for you!"

They stood there for a long time, her weeping into his soft, silken shirt, clinging to it even as a part of her wanted so badly to shove him away and cut him dead. For his part, Draco simply held her, his despair as awkward and as painful as hers, making him tremble.

It all suddenly felt like too much weight to carry. It was exhausting, being this wounded all the time. And she had a baby to think about now. How were her bouts of melancholy and sorrow affecting her unborn child?

"I'm afraid to trust you again," she admitted around a shuddering sob. "I put my heart into your hands once, Draco. Despite everything between us in the past, all the bad things you ever did and said to me, I still trusted you with my heart, and you did what I never thought you could: you tore it in half."

He swallowed hard. "I still love you, Granger. I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life. And I know I've fucked it up between us, I _know_ it's asking for the moon, but would you be willing to give me another chance? Please."

And in that word, she heard echoed every plea she'd ever offered up to him:

_Please bring me...back to you._

_Please stop tormenting me...with this pain when we're apart._

_Please keep reminding me that I'm not an ugly, unwanted...lover._

_Please don't hurt me with this...because you could._

__Please take all this hurt from me...I can't take it anymore._ _

_Please care for me...as I do for you._

_Please don't let this all be a game to you...because it's never been a game to me._

_Please remind me of who I once was...when we were together._

_Please fall for me, so I won't be alone in this feeling._

Her heart turned over in her chest, and it took several tries before she could find her voice at last. "We rushed this," she whispered with some hesitance, afraid of offering her hand again, but finding she was willing to try anyway. She was Gryffindor, after all, and being brave wasn't just about standing up for social justice, or jumping in front of hexes, or even facing off against the likes of Voldemort. It was also about crawling to one's feet after life knocked you back, about standing up for one's self when necessary...and about putting your heart on the line when it felt right to do so, even knowing it could be obliterated. "We were hardly friends before. Neither of us fully trusted the other. That's what caused this mess. So, if you want to start over, we begin there."

He leaned back, looked her in the eye, and nodded in understanding. "Trust isn't something you demand. It's something you earn," he said, slowly reaching out to run his fingertips over her cheek. "I can do that. For you, absolutely."

Draco's gentle touch ignited a riot of feelings. Hermione shook from the magnificent and terrifying weight of them, and was forced to step back from him, seeking out the opposite edge of the door once more to keep her knees from giving out.

Her lover let he go without a word, but it was clear from the way he watched her, and as he straightened his shoulders and wiped the tears from his cheeks that it wasn't to be a permanent withdrawal. The determination in his granite-hard eyes made it clear that he was going to fight for her.

"I'll earn your trust back," he vowed. "I can learn how to be your friend."

Taking a single step back to put a little more distance between them eased the tension a bit, and Draco suddenly seemed much more assured and self-confident, as he'd been at the start of their affair. It was because he had a goal now, she knew, and like all Slytherins, he was ambitious enough to set other things aside to achieve it.

"You'll want more, though," she pointed out, needing to establish right up front that, to her, the foundation of the relationship was the more important goal this time around. "You said it yourself: you're greedy, selfish. You'll want things to immediately go back to the way they were."

They both knew it was true. The sex between them had been, in a word, amazing.

And addicting.

Amazingly addicting.

She'd never thought sex could be like that, honestly. It would be hard for her, too, to not want to immediately pick back up where they'd left off.

He shrugged and slowly began backing away. "I won't deny that the idea of taking you to my bed again isn't something I don't want to repeat over and over, Granger. I like the little sounds you make when I'm inside you. They're unforgettable." With a tremulous smile, he turned on his heel and began to walk off. He walked like a man who'd found a ray of hope in an otherwise cloudy day. Over his shoulder, he threw out a last thought, "Some things are equally as important as sex, though."

When he was down the hall and out of sight, Hermione returned to her room and shut the door. Then, she leaned against it, resting a red-hot cheek against the cool surface with a relieved sigh.

This wasn't caving, she told herself, as she climbed under the sheets later and waved the candlelight out with her wand. She'd done enough of that with Ron to know how it felt. This was starting over. Friendship first, if only for the sake of the child they were bringing into the world together. Anything else after that...well, she'd see.

She closed her eyes, rubbing a hand over her belly to calm the sudden roiling within it, caressing over the rounded curves...

Soon. She'd tell him about the pregnancy soon—

Her eyes snapped open and she stared up at the ceiling, the need for sleep fading proportionately to her mounting anxiety.

—Just as soon as she figured out how to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be completely frank, I'd written most of this chapter before I ever wrote chapter 6, so the info. about Draco and Helena that appears here, about them not actually being a couple and it all being a ruse...planned out far in advance. Foreshadowing, killing off characters, & leading readers astray = most fun a writer has, honestly (and in that order, too).
> 
> Please don't hex me to death! :) Besides, I have mentioned before that authors are sadists, didn't I?
> 
> Hopefully, you'll leave a review anyway. I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> \- RZZMG


	11. Chapter 11

**Mid-February, 2007 – The Next Day**

Draco did not approach her the next morning in the Great Hall. He did, however, nod her way in a friendly greeting and flash her his patented sexy smile before returning to a conversation he was having with Nott.

He appeared well-rested, and she noted, handsomely dressed in a dark charcoal-coloured jacket with a high collar and his hair neatly tied back at his nape. He seemed more relaxed today, as well, happier than he'd been in a long while. Gone was the dark look in his eye, replaced by a spark of energy she hadn't seen in him since before the Christmas hols. He'd obviously woken up on the right side of the bed this morning.

That made one of them, at least. _She_ hadn't slept a wink, worrying about how she was going to inform him of his impending fatherhood.

Feeling grumpy and ill-sorted from her night of tossing and turning, Hermione took her customary seat next to Neville, addressing him with a muffled, 'g'morning' despite the fact her head was full of sand and her eyes burned. Her stomach rumbled with a Hagrid-sized hunger, however, as she stared at the selection of food the elves had laid out that day.

Merlin, she felt starved to the point of chewing on the furniture!

Quickly, she filled her plate with eggs and sausage and freshly cut fruit, gulping down a cup of strong, caffeinated tea with each mouthful. Then, when she'd cleaned up that serving, she went in for seconds, piling on the sausage and toast with strawberry jam on, ignoring the wide-eyed stare of her former Housemate, who watched her down the meal like a heifer at the feed trough.

"Might want to slow down," Neville leaned in and whispered to her. "You're drawing attention, and you were the one who said you didn't want that."

Hermione patted her mouth with her napkin, stifling a small, low burp in the slip of cotton. "Sorry," she apologised, embarrassed by her bad manners. "I'm just, I'm starving."

"Clearly," he teased. "Eating for two and all."

Just over Neville's shoulder, she caught a flash of platinum blond and turned to find Draco getting to his feet alongside Nott. The two had finished their meal and were preparing to leave the room together.

Just as he stepped past the table, he turned his head towards her...and stopped.

Why was he frowning?

Why was he pointing to her chin?

"You've got jam all over your face," Neville murmured from the corner of his mouth.

Quickly, Hermione reached for her napkin, wiping up the mess she'd made in her haste to shovel food down her gullet. "God, how embarrassing," she groaned in a low tone.

Draco's lips curved into an amused smile, and then he turned and walked off at Nott's side.

"How unlike you," Neville pointed out. His gaze followed Draco until he'd turned the corner and was out of sight. "Unless you want him to figure it out." He glanced at her. "Do you?"

She sighed. "It's...complicated."

Her friend chuckled, and reached for his pumpkin juice. "When it concerns your love life, isn't it always?"

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs, causing him to nearly spill a mouthful of juice into his lap.

* * *

 

**Mid-February, 2007 – That same afternoon**

The two-hour break between classes gave Hermione a bit of time for a short snooze. She took full advantage of that opportunity, head down on her desk, resting in the crook of her crossed arms.

She was just drifting off into unconsciousness when there came a knock on her office door. Jerking awake, she rubbed at her eyes and hollered a sleepy, "Come in."

Draco stuck his head in. "Did you have lunch?" he asked.

With a fussy hand, she attempted to fix some curls that had come loose from her bun and were falling into her face. "Not yet, no."

"Good."

He walked in carrying a picnic basket.

Hermione couldn't help but smile at that. "It's the middle of winter," she reminded him.

"Which is why‒" He waved his wand in her general direction and wordlessly scooted her papers neatly to the side of her desk, where they stacked themselves into a sorted pile. "‒we're eating at your desk instead of outside."

He set the basket down before her and opened it, drawing items from its depths.

It was a feast, actually. There must have been at least twelve kinds of dishes, as well as a tall, metal flask that resembled a Muggle thermos and was warm to the touch.

She tweaked an eyebrow at him. "Expecting to feed an army?"

He glanced at her, his enigmatic gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and she got the impression he'd been about to either confess or ask her something. Then he blinked and it was clear he'd changed his mind. "Too many questions, Granger, not enough taking care of yourself," he teased, placing an empty plate before her and handing her a set of silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin. "That's always been your problem, you know. You'll spend hours researching something and forget to eat."

She glanced at the offerings before her, her stomach rumbling. "This is...amazing. How'd you convince the kitchen elves to cook such fancy dishes?"

He shrugged, pouring tea from the thermos into a cup and passing it to her. "I didn't. This is from my family's kitchens at the Manor." He smirked, pointing at different dishes. "You didn't honestly think they kept wood-grilled salmon with dill-cucumber yoghurt, red chard with caramelized onions, or a chocolate-Mascarpone brownie with warm fudge on call at Hogwarts, did you?"

She gave him a quelling look.

His grin widened and he took a seat opposite her, placing his napkin in his lap.

They dug in, and Hermione enjoyed a decent helping of everything, and she even went back for seconds on the brownie. If Draco noticed she was eating like a horse, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he talked to her about her students this term, if she'd noticed the increase in inter-house relations since Valentine's three days earlier, and who her pick was for House Cup this year.

"Ravenclaw," she told him, finishing off the last of her pudding. "They'll sweep their O.W.L.s, putting them in the lead at the end."

"Agreed. Slytherin will take the Quidditch Cup, though," Draco predicted, sitting back in his chair and watching her eat with a warm, well-contented look in his eye. "That'll give them enough points for second."

She sighed, blotting her lips with her napkin and deciding to call her meal done before she ballooned up. "I think my Gryffindors will be last this time around." She made a face. "The seventh years are lackadaisical, and the first years too enamoured with George Weasley's joke shop to study."

Draco chuckled. "The magical moustaches at Halloween _were_ priceless, though, you must admit."

Yes, they had been. That a bunch of eleven-year-olds—both the boys _and_ the girls—got their hands on identical Guy Fawkes facial hair charms, and then walked around for an entire week wearing them, pretending nothing was amiss, had provoked a smile out of every staff member. Minerva had even burst into giggles over it in private during their bi-weekly tea dates.

"They are quite cheeky, aren't they?" she admitted with a fond smile. "Of course, I remember the time Harry and Ron–"

She stopped, abruptly, realising that it was in bad taste to be discussing her ex-husband with her ex-lover.

Setting his cup down on the edge of her desk, Draco sat back in his chair, crossed his legs at the knee, and indicated that she should go on with what she'd been about to say. "Potter and Weasley, what?" he prompted, seeming sincerely interested, and not in the least bit jealous.

She contemplated the wisdom of the discussion a second longer before deciding that her past was just that, and that she should be able to talk about it with friends. And, after all, that's what she was trying to build here with Draco: a friendship. Right?

"In our third year, Fred and George Weasley had made a bet with Ron that he couldn't sneak a Confusing Draught into Snape's tea." She shook her head, still amazed her ex had fallen for any gag concocted by the twins. "He'd told Harry and me about the bet, and in solidarity, Harry decided to help Ron."

"Naturally," Draco stated with a small, wry smirk. He steepled his fingers and tapped his bottom lip with them, his grey gaze twinkling with dark mirth. "And you, Granger, with your uncommonly good sense, didn't rise to the obvious bait and instead warned the Dunderheaded Duo not to attempt such folly—advise they'd undoubtedly refused to heed."

She frowned at him. "Do you want to tell the story?"

"Not at all, predictable though the outcome will be." He playfully waved her on. "By all means, continue."

With a sniff to signal her annoyance, she forged ahead. "You are correct. I didn't interfere, and no, they didn't listen to reason. I told them it was a scheme doomed to failure, but Ron's always had a need to prove himself, and Harry's a magnet for trouble, even when it isn't actively looking for him."

"So, what tipped you in favour of the twins?" he asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned just remembering that asinine bet. "Snape's nose. It was large and finely-tuned to smells, if you'll recall."

Draco laughed. "Yes, the Sneezewort would have had him in fits."

"Obviously," she agreed. "Biology always wins in the end. In any case, the penalty for losing the bet was that the pair had to walk around the school for three days with the words, 'Marry Me' magically scrawled on their foreheads in bright orange and pink letters."

"Really? I don't recall that." Draco looked nonplussed. "Third year, you say?"

"You were in hospital then," she reminded him, pointing to his arm. "Buckbeak's attack."

"Ah." He leaned back in his chair once more, the riddle solved. "The infamous hippogriff incident...which led to a rather feisty Gryffindor witch smacking me hard enough to turn my head, as I recall."

She narrowed her eyes at that. "You had it coming."

His grin was all white teeth and feral. "It turned me on."

"Liar."

Really, who became aroused by such a thing?

The castle clock chimed the one o'clock hour, the heavy toll reverberating through the hallways and down the corridors, signalling the end of the lunch hour.

With a sigh, Hermione began packing up the remaining food and putting it back into the picnic basket Draco had brought to her.

Getting to his feet, her companion came around the desk and helped. He then insisted that she keep it when they were finished.

"In case you need a snack later."

"But really, I don't‒"

Leaning across the desk, he put a finger across her lips to hush her protest. "It'll go to waste if you don't eat it."

That was precisely the right thing to say, for food waste was one of Hermione's bigger pet peeves, especially after having spent almost a year on the run with very little to eat some weeks. Besides, she was still a bit ravenous just then, despite having eaten enough to sate a hog in pen, but she didn't want to let Draco in on that potentially telling fact, not yet. She was still working on the right way to approach him and explain their imminent parental situation without it blowing up in her face.

With a murmured, 'thank you,' she politely gave in, and as Draco pulled away, she set the basket down behind her desk. She'd just eat its contents later, after classes were through in another few hours.

When she straightened, she found herself suddenly standing mere inches from her lover's chest. From this close a distance, she could see her reflection in the silver buttons of his Regency-styled Giles vest. She glanced up and took a small step back, afraid she'd accidentally bump her belly against him and clue him in on her current state.

Slowly, as if he was afraid of chasing her off, Draco reached for her hand and took it in his. He looked down at the place where her wedding ring was now permanently removed and traced over the pale strip of flesh where her band had once lain. "How are you?" he softly asked, tapping the space where he touched. "No regrets?"

His expression, she noted, was carefully controlled, his gaze unfathomable. What was he really thinking right then, she wondered?

"None," she confessed. "I'm handling it fine, in fact. It feels as if...a great weight has lifted from my shoulders."

"No more lies," he said, and she internally winced.

She was lying, just not to Ron. An omission was a falsehood just the same.

Lies destroyed relationships. If there was one thing she knew from experience, it was that keeping things from the people you loved was a sure-fire way to earn their resentment once the truth came out.

Maybe now _was_ the best time to tell him everything. Just get it all out there, let the chips fall as they may.

"Draco, I...I have to tell you‒" she said, opening her mouth and preparing to reveal all.

Her door opened, and her sixth-year students began pouring in. Quickly, Draco let her go and stepped back, so as not to give the impression of impropriety in front of the children. There was a decorum to maintain in front of students, Minerva had reminded her when last they'd discussed the matter of staff involvement, and she knew Draco well-understood that, too, without having to be told.

"Later. Right now, I have to tell _you_ ," he said in a low enough tone so they wouldn't be overheard by others, "that this _wasn't_ a date."

She blinked, confused as he turned away and headed for her door without another word. It took another second for her to react. "No?" she asked, feeling that was an obscure and safe enough question for kids to overhear without being able to appropriate interpret the conversation.

"No," he confirmed with a teasing smirk over his shoulder as he hit the door. "Definitely not."

As the door shut behind him, a group of girls seated in the first two rows turned back around in their seats, having physically twisted around to watch Draco walk away. They giggled like a bunch of female hyenas and blushed madly once he was gone.

"Professor Malfoy can hit me with a Love Potion any day!" one of them said with a sigh, a dreamy look entering her eye.

The group all agreed with similar breathy expressions.

"He's so fit," another concurred—a witch from Slytherin House. "Merlin, what I'd give to run my fingers through that hair while he‒"

Hermione cleared her throat, and very pointedly gave an arch look to the young woman. "Open your _Standard Book of Spells_ to chapter nineteen," she instructed the class, keeping a bald eye on Ms. Hair Fetish, "and read up on the Aguamenti Charm. In silence. There will be a quiz at the end of the hour on its history, its properties, and its limitations." Just to make things more interesting, she added, "The House with the most O's on the quiz will get ten points awarded to them towards the House Cup."

That set the more serious, competitive types into excited murmurs and everyone's noses into their texts.

The peace and quiet was a nice respite, allowing Hermione to dip into the basket at her feet to pull out a bowl of fresh, sweet peaches in cinnamon syrup. As she ate the soft, heavenly dessert with her fingers—she really was going to need to find out how Draco managed to acquire such exotic food in the middle of winter—she kept a sharp eye on her students, to assure notes weren't being passed around and that none of them were daydreaming about a certain hunky Potions professor and his silky, starlight-coloured hair when they ought to be studying.

* * *

 

**Mid-February, 2007 – That evening**

A note from Ginny's arrived that evening via Owl.

This was the first contact she'd had with her friend, or really any of Ron's family, since the divorce. Hermione was nervous about opening the letter, but in the end, she decided she'd rather know what she was facing than not.

Surprisingly, Ginny wasn't hostile. However, she wasn't a hundred-percent supportive, either. Rather, the note was somewhere in between, filled with Ginny's disappointment and sadness that things hadn't worked between Hermione and her brother. There was, to be fair, also some understanding from Ginny.

**_I didn't know my git brother had kept seeing Brown after that one time in the Ministry, when you'd caught them out. I'm angry at him for that. He shouldn't have treated you so badly, Mione. He should have respected his vows. I'm sorry you were hurt by him. Maybe it's best you two divorced. I'm just...sad. It's like an end of an era, you know?_ **

Yes, Hermione did understand the sentiment, as she'd felt much the same way. However, life had moved on despite her feelings and wishes and wants, and eventually, she'd come to a place of acceptance. Some things simply weren't meant to be...and that was okay. Not everything in life could be planned, and nothing could be controlled, not really.

It seemed Ginny was just now beginning to get that, too.

Maybe ending her marriage would spell a new beginning for her other friendships. Perhaps without the strain of trying to please others before herself, Hermione could once more fall back into a comfortable place with Harry, Ginny, and yes, even Ron.

For the first time in a long time, Hermione began to feel positive about her future. Things were finally going in the right direction.


	12. Chapter 12

**Mid-March, 2007**

Four weeks of non-stop commitments had practically wrung Hermione's patience, and her energy, dry. Between her regular teaching duties, O.W.L. prep classes for her fifth years, N.E.W.T. prep classes for her seventh years, and Head of House duties, she was stretched thin.

Draco, too, was under the same weight of work, and so it was that they'd hardly had time to pass each other in the halls, much less stop and talk about personal issues.

The gnawing weight that she needed to tell him about the baby constantly weighed on her every day, and yet it seemed as if fate was conspiring against her from being able to reveal the truth to him. Each time she'd made to take a break and find him, some new catastrophe or conundrum demanded her attention.

The day after her and Draco's "picnic-but-not-a-date" in her classroom, a third year Gryffindor found the Mirror of Erised in an old storage cupboard and had to be physically dragged away from it, then Memory Charmed to forget it completely, as he'd attempted suicide in a fit of depression when told he could never look in it again. Three days later, a first year Hufflepuff's wand had been magically jinxed as a prank to cast only _Aqua Eructo_ , and she'd accidentally flooded the entire second floor hallway, including every classroom. Moaning Myrtle was in an uproar as a result, and it took quite a lot to calm her down, especially with Peeves egging her on. That same week, a seventh year's beauty charm backfired, and instead cursed her with Medusa's gaze. Hermione spent three days un-Petrifying those students with the help of Poppy.

The next three weeks weren't any better, with a rash of cheating charms, private duels between romantic rivals as a result of Valentine's, Weasley-product pranks at an all-time high, and several house rivalries heating up as the weather finally allowed for the continuation of Quidditch. Apparently, all the good-will won during the holiday of "love and friendship" the month before was set aside in favour of which team had the best Seeker, and which Keeper would fail to do their job on the pitch.

On top of it all, someone had charmed all of the owls in the Owlery to fly backwards…which had made a terrible mess for Filch to clean up, as the poor things had the feces scared out of them, literally. That had been another two days of work, hunting the owls down and reversing the hex.

Today had started off relatively quiet, however, especially for a Saturday morning…until Helen Merrythought approached Hermione as she was about to enter the Great Hall for breakfast. The witch drew her into a small, private nook off the main hall for them to speak.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Helen apologised, looking sincerely remorseful. "I've been so embarrassed by my part in the scheme that…well, I wasn't sure how to approach you. I'm not built for confrontation, you see."

Hermione sighed. "This is about you and Draco, isn't it?"

Merrythought wrung her hands and hung her head. "It was a cruel prank to play on you, pretending to date him, but in all honesty, I'd thought he was just trying to make you a little jealous so you'd leave your husband and go back to him. After everything I'd heard about your Mister Weasley and how he hadn't treated you as you'd deserved, I'd thought I was helping the course of true love to get back on track."

Exhausted from the added stresses she'd been under lately, and feeling hormonal as a result, Hermione wasn't exactly in a very forgiving mood just then. Also, Merrythought's apology, although well-intended, was pouring fresh salt into the wound. "Honestly, Helen, didn't you learn back in school never to play at Slytherin mind games?" she said, berating the other woman. "They usually don't end well, you know."

Helen began to cry, putting a damper on the whole righteous indignation that Hermione had going.

"I wish I'd know that before it even started!" her co-worker wailed. "I'd have tried something different. But by the time we'd run into you in Hogsmeade, Theo really believed Draco and I were together. Where the plan was backfiring for you two, it was actually working for me…and then I became too wrapped up in my own good fortune to care about the collateral damage I was causing. It was selfish and awful, and I'm so, _so_ sorry, Hermione! Please believe me!"

It took a monumental effort for Hermione to pick her jaw up off the floor. She suddenly felt...popped…by the knowledge that Helen's love interest was none other than Theodore Nott, git extraordinaire.

She'd been played so that bloody, _cheeky_ Slytherin could get his come-uppance?!

The room began to spin.

"You and Theo... Oh, god, I'm going to be sick," she said, nauseated by the way the world tilted off-kilter.

Helen seemed taken aback by that. "Now see here, Hermione, I admit he's a bit to get used to, but he's not _that_ bad."

"No," Hermione snarled, "Not Nott and you! I mean–"

Her stomach suddenly cramped, and she doubled-over with an _'ooh!'_

"Oh, god, something's wrong! Get Madam Pomfrey!" she pleaded, right as she began to tip over. She leaned all her weight against the stone wall, and instead slid down it to land in a small heap at its foot, curling in on herself.

She could hear Helen screaming into the Entrance Hall for help just before everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Ron's was the first face she saw when she woke up.

"Why–?" she began to ask, but Poppy stuck her wand into her face right then, cutting her off.

"Too much excitement isn't good for you or the baby, Ms. Granger, not with your blood pressure so elevated," the elderly nurse stated, checking how her pupils dilated in the wand's light, before nodding and moving off. "Luckily, no harm was done this time, but I must stress the need for you to relax more. Perhaps speak to Minerva about shifting Head of House duties for the time being."

The witch patted her shoulder and then gathered her things and returned to her office, mumbling something about making up a tonic to help Hermione relax.

Gingerly, Hermione sat up. Ron helped, supporting her and placing an extra pillow from another cot behind her head. "I was at Hogsmeade last night, visiting Seamus and Neville. We had a few too many, so I stayed over at the Three Broomsticks. Decided to come up and see everyone while I was here. I'd just walked into the Entrance Hall when you were being emergency levitated up to the Hospital Wing."

"Excellent timing," she dryly said.

She glanced around, but aside from Poppy in her office down the hall, they were the only two in the room at the moment. Where was Draco?

She was just about to ask Ron to send the nurse back to her so she could talk to the woman about her baby when she noted her ex-husband's gaze drop to her belly with an unspoken, but obvious question in his eyes.

He knew that not only was she pregnant, but that it couldn't be his.

She sighed, not expecting to have had this conversation with him quite yet, especially as she hadn't even talked to her baby's father, but deciding that if it had to happen, at least it was in a relatively private location.

"I'll be twenty weeks on Tuesday," she told him, placing a protecting hand over the area and patting it gently. "Half-way there. It's growing well."

Ron took a deep breath, and his cheeks went red. His eyes never left her abdomen. "Do you know if it's a girl or boy yet?"

"I'm not sure. I was going to ask Poppy to check for me, but…there's been a lot going on around here, and I haven't had the time to come up until now." She glanced at him, considering how awkward it would be to ask Ron what it was on the tip of her tongue to ask. After a moment's more considering, she decided to just go for it. They'd been friends for a long time, and now that he knew and seemed to be taking it rather (surprisingly) well, it didn't seem this request would break him. "Would you like to find out with me?"

He blinked past sudden tears that filled his eyes, sniffed, and then nodded. "Yeah, that'd be cool."

She reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it gently. "Thank you. I could really use a friend right now."

He took her smaller hand between both of his strong, beefy ones and held it carefully. "A friend," he echoed, clearly disappointed in the platonic sound of that, but he slowly nodded. "Okay."

Hermione felt a lump of sadness gather in her chest again, but held her ground against its nostalgic call. She and Ron had ended things for a reason, one that wouldn't change just because she missed it. They were divorced, she no longer loved him in the way a wife loved a husband, and there was no going back simply because she was feeling wistful. There shouldn't be.

There couldn't be. Not now, with another man's baby on the way.

Another man she could admit she still desperately loved, despite his monumental stupidity of late.

"Where's the father?" he asked her. "Do I need to hunt him down and beat his arse for you? 'Cause I will. You just say the word, 'Mione. He's on his knees, apologising to you for not being here when you needed him."

The offer made her smile. "Can't really blame him. I haven't exactly told him yet."

Ron stared at her in shock. "You're not together?"

Gently, she withdrew her hand from his. "We had a series of…misunderstandings, and were apart for a while, but we've made it up. Sort of." She sighed, unsure how much to tell. "We're…working on fixing it. We've agreed to try."

Slowly, her ex-husband nodded. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Soon, yes," she vowed. "I've been trying to, but every time I get a free moment, there's another disaster demanding my attention, another mess to clean up." She rolled her eyes heavenward and stared at the ceiling far above their heads, wondering how many other people lying in this exact spot had felt equally as ready to chuck it all and go on an extended holiday in the Caribbean. "Somedays, I feel like they're all my children in this place, that I'm everyone's least favourite mum."

Ron chuckled. "Why do you think I eventually left the Joke Shop? All those kids, all that mess."

That surprised her. "I thought you'd wanted children."

"I do." He shrugged. "Someday. With the right witch."

Hermione avoided asking him if that meant Lavender wasn't it, as his love life wasn't any of her business any longer. If he wanted to volunteer the information, that was fine, but she wasn't going to pry.

"Can you ask Poppy to come here? I'm really anxious to know now," she admitted. Now that a moment was available, she wouldn't waste this chance, especially knowing it was only a matter of time before the next big emergency required her full attention. This might be her only opportunity to find out the gender of her child until the next appointed check-up date in two more weeks.

"Sure," Ron agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

A wave of the elderly nurse's wand over her belly, and Hermione cried tears of joy.

She was having a little girl.

 

* * *

 

 

Ron was leaving right as Draco was walking in.

"What's he doing here?" they both said at the same time, addressing her.

Her ex-husband's eyes narrowed, and then his jaw dropped open. "No. No way." He turned on her. "Do not tell me it's his."

Hermione tossed Ron an arch look. "Are you really going to lecture me on romantic partnerships and their appropriateness? Because I hardly think you have any room to be throwing stones in that glass house."

The stubborn set to his chin told Hermione her ex wanted to argue the case in a knock-down, drag-out shouting match, but amazingly, he showed great maturity in not doing so. Instead he stepped up into Draco's space and snarled at him. "You hurt either of them, Malfoy, and there won't be a body for the Aurors to find. You'll simply…disappear. Promise you that."

With that, Ron stormed out, presumably to head back to the village.

Leaving Hermione at ground zero, as Draco's attention shifted wholly to her. He was, she knew, far too astute not to pick up on the unintended hints in Ron's rant.

"Come and sit down before you start yelling at me, too," she said, far too exhausted for another fight. The potion Poppy had given her after determining the sex of her child was meant to put her back under so she could rest, and she could feel it tugging at her right then.

Draco took the chair Ron had abandoned, looking as calm as a summer breeze. He crossed his legs and waited for her to explain.

"I'm pregnant."

"I know."

That surprised her.

"I've known since December, when you started acting strange," he admitted.

This discussion was not going at all as she'd anticipated. "What?! You knew?"

He snorted. "You were eating erratically, sleeping erratically, even more stress-y than normal, and there were days you looked green around the gills. Of course I knew, Granger. I was waiting for you to say something."

"But I didn't know until mid-January!" she told him. "Why didn't you bother to clue me in?"

He snorted. "I did. I gave you jewellery."

She frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He sighed. "Of everyone in the world, I would have thought _you'd_ have read up on wizarding traditions, especially in regards to courting rituals."

She had. That's how she'd known that Hannah Abbott's acceptance of Neville's suit was a step away from a proposal. Giving jewellery was…

An ancient tradition, given with the intention to marry.

"A ring means I've spoken to your father and mother, and received the family's blessing," he reminded her.

"The gift of earrings means you haven't yet, but intend to," she recited from memory, having read about the custom in _Madam Fawley's Guide to Perfect Gentility_. Molly Weasley had presented the book to her upon her seventeenth birthday, presumably to prepare her for Ron's courtship. "After the nuptials, a necklace and matching bracelet are the groom's wedding gift to his new wife, and collar tips with a chain and cufflinks are a bride's to her new husband." She stared up at him in dismay. "Oh, my god, I didn't understand!"

Draco shrugged. "I figured when you refused my requests to destroy them."

That made Hermione intensely sad. "So, when you asked me to get rid of them, you were rescinding your proposal."

"I was."

Her lover didn't look too happy about that, either.

"Did you think the baby was why I was going back to Ron?"

Draco's face closed down, going blank, but he nodded.

No wonder he was so angry and upset. He'd thought that not only was she leaving him to go back to her husband, but that she was going to take his baby with her, too, to be raised by the man he'd despised since they were children.

"Ron and I are over. You know that, don't you? I'm not going back to him, and not just because of the baby."

"Then why was he here today? And why did he know about your pregnancy before me?" He glared at her. "Why did it take you this long to tell me the truth?"

The potion was pulling at her, making her want to just lay her head down and put off this conversation for another time. It was too long overdue at this point, though, and putting it off would only create another layer of hurt and misunderstanding between them. For that reason, she struggled to fight off the potion's effects.

"He was here to see Neville and Seamus, not at my invitation. He just happened to walk in when I was being carried up here after fainting down in the Great Hall." She shook her head and sat up straighter in bed, knowing that if her head hit the pillow, it was going to be lights out again. "He wanted to make sure I was okay. Madam Pomfrey let my condition slip in front of him. I assume it's because she thought the baby might be his, seeing as how we were married until a month ago. As for why I didn't tell you…" Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she struggled to stay awake. "I didn't know until the middle of January that I was even pregnant, and by then, we weren't talking, if you'll recall. You'd made it crystal clear you didn't want anything to do with me, in fact, so I took the hint and started making plans to raise this baby on my own."

"But we've been talking again for almost a month, Hermione."

"We really haven't, have we?" she pointed out. "I've seen you, what, a handful of times in four weeks? And that's primarily been to fix some disaster caused by a student or passing each other going in and out for meals. There hasn't been time to breathe, much less talk with all the madness in this place of late. Besides, I…I didn't know how to explain _this_ after everything that's happened," she admitted. "I was afraid of how you'd react to the news at this late stage."

He was silent for so long that the stillness of the room began to lull her into sleep while still sitting up. She jerked awake again only when he sighed and shifted to help her lay back into the bed.

"I should be furious at you for not telling me first, Granger," he said in a resigned tone, tucking her under the blankets and assuring she was covered. "However, at this point, I'm starting to discover that ridiculous misunderstandings and ironic timing have always been at the heart of our relationship." He kissed her on the forehead. "Sleep, you maddening woman. We'll talk more later, I'm sure."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice slurred by exhaustion. She grabbed his hand and held on with the last of her strength. "I should've told you about her sooner."

His smile was slow, but stunning.

"Her?"

Pressing his palm over Hermione's belly bump, he glanced down at the place where their child currently slept, safe for now.

"How odd. Malfoys always have boys."

He grinned.

"Looks like we break every tradition, Granger."

"Mmm," was all she could manage before the potions sent her to lullaby land once more.

 

* * *

 

 

She awoke to the scent of roses. A dozen white and pink roses in a vase next to her bed, on the stand, to be exact.

Attached to the vase was a card.

" _Still not a date,"_ it read.

Well, at least Draco was taking the news well and he didn't hate her again. She could work with that.


	13. Chapter 13

**The last days of March, 2007**

 

The weeks following her pregnancy revelation flew by in a flurry of activity, and for once, Hermione was actually looking forward to the upcoming holiday and the respite it offered.

Spring had begun peeking out from behind the great grey canopy above in sporadic moments of light and joy, bringing with it a change in the energy flow throughout the castle. The corridors and classrooms were brighter, more spirited. There was more pep in people's movements, more zeal…and more amorous encounters in quiet, secreted nooks that the Prefects took great delight in breaking up.

Consequently, House Cup rivalry was also infected. Academic competition grew fierce between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, with the 'Silver Snakes' stepping up their intellectual game to give the 'Screaming Eagles' a run for their money. Quidditch was back on, too, and the contest was fierce—not just between Hufflepuff and Slytherin for first place, but also to determine which team would come in dead last. Would it indeed be lackadaisical Gryffindor, as everyone was predicting?

For all the good morale going on, however, Hermione was eager for the Easter break to come in a few days. To be off for nine days in a row would be heavenly!

The truth was, she hadn't realised just how tired she would feel at only twenty-two and a half weeks along, but it seemed the extra fourteen pounds she'd gained since the whole thing began would have an effect on her energy levels to some extent. Then there was the swelling in her ankles and feet, which was giving her varicose veins, the hemorrhoids, the appearance of her first stretch mark on her slowly widening belly, and the fact that the pressing need to urinate had progressed from every half hour to every twenty minutes. At least she was holding down her meals now without any further problems, and odours were not as strong as they'd been just two weeks prior.

Overall, hers did not seem to be the 'smooth and glorious march towards eventual motherhood' that Alwina Appleby had written about in her books.

Rubbing over her volleyball-sized belly, she smiled.

She wouldn't trade it for the world.

Fortunately, Draco seemed most pleased with her pregnancy, supportive even, without being smothering. She knew from reading Muggle news that many men weren't as good to the mother of a baby with whom they shared genetics. Some were downright cruel, in fact. She'd lucked out, it seemed, as her baby's father was clearly excited for his daughter to eventually come into the world.

He was really working hard to rebuild their relationship, too, and not just for the child's sake. They'd been friends of a sort before they'd become romantic; having worked together as Heads of House had forced them into close proximity months and months before he'd ever kissed her. It was easy enough to slide back into that space, for both of them. Easier than she'd expected, actually.

It was the sexual tension thrumming through her body, however, that was proving a challenge to her resolve to take things slow. Night after night of erotic dreams, all featuring her most recent lover as the leading man in the smutastic movie reel in her head, was driving her 'round the bend. Her raised hormonal levels, coupled with the fact that Draco Malfoy had grown up to become a very sexy man, was a conundrum her sex-starved body was having difficulty resolving.

Pregnant did not mean she was dead, obviously.

It might kill her at this rate, however, especially if she didn't get some satisfaction other than her hand sometime soon!

 

* * *

  **A week later…**

 

As Hermione waited at Hogsmeade's platform to farewell her students for the break, she was surprised to see two familiar faces stepping off the Hogwarts Express, having arrived from London.

"Harry? Ginny?"

She squealed and hurried to greet her friends, careful of bumping into anyone as she meandered between the bodies. The glamour upon her belly prevented anyone from seeing the truth of her condition, but she was extra careful crossing that stretch, just in case.

It was unavoidable that hugging Ginny would lead to a revelation for them both.

Her best girlfriend's pregnancy was going along as well as her own, it seemed.

"Blimey!" Ginny said in awe, staring at Hermione's waistline. "Ron said…but I wasn't sure I believed…"

Hermione cautioned her friend. "Come up to the castle. I'll make us a spot of tea and we can talk then."

Harry, she noticed, seemed distant, not offering to hug her, but he did give her a hesitant smile in greeting. His reserve stung, but a part of her understood without being told that he was walking an in unfamiliar territory, trying to navigate what he should and shouldn't feel about her divorcing his best friend and taking up with his childhood nemesis. Harry had always struggled with his loyalties where she and Ron were concerned.

She reached out and took his hand, then did the same for Ginny. "It seems we have a lot to catch up on," she said, attempting for lighthearted. Her glance fell to Ginny's smaller bump. "Do you know yet if it's a boy or girl? Have you started carving the crib yet, or are you going to buy one this time around instead? What does little Jamie think of being a big brother? Oh, I can't wait to hear the details!"

Next to her, Harry stumbled over his own feet. His face was beet red and he coughed around a laugh. "Hopefully, not _all_ the details."

Ginny laughed, and it was a delightfully wicked sound. "Oh, Harry, didn't you know that sharing _everything_ is in the sister contract?"

And just like that, Hermione got her best girlfriend back.

 

* * *

 

 

"You realize they'll be only a few weeks apart?" Ginny said, starry-eyed and excited at the prospect of her son someday becoming more than friends with Hermione's daughter. "Maybe it'll even be a love match!"

Patting her belly, feeling quite full after such a delicious lunch down in the Great Hall, Hermione smiled with contentment. "Yes, I'm sure Draco will simply _love_ that."

"His father, too!"

The two women erupted into laughter at the thought of the Malfoy patriarch finding out that his half-blood granddaughter was marrying a half-blood Weasley-Potter.

"Are you sure it's his?" Harry asked, quite sincere, putting a damper on the fun. He blushed red again as she turned to him, but held his ground. "Malfoy's, I mean. You're absolutely _sure?_ "

Hermione knew her friend was struggling with the fact that what she'd had with Ron was really and truly over, and that as a result, it was an end of an era for the three of them. Family was something Harry had been denied his entire childhood and had desperately pined for in the quiet darkness of the cupboard under the stairs, and he'd wanted her and Ron to be a part of that dream someday, alongside him and Ginny. It was why he'd approached her to convince her to go back to Ron after she'd caught him cheating, and why he was now finding it hard to let it all go.

But a romantic relationship with Ron wasn't in her cards, and it was time Harry understood and embraced that fact.

She crossed the room and sat down next to him on the sofa before the fire, taking his hand in hers. "I'm positive. Ron and I…we haven't been husband and wife in a very long time."

Harry sighed, staring at the flickering of the firelight against the ancient, smooth stones of the floor. "Do you really love him…Malfoy?"

Capturing his gaze, she looked Harry in the eye when she admitted. "I do."

For one stubborn second more, Harry seemed torn, but then he softened with acceptance.

"Okay."

And with that one word, he'd made it clear that he had let go of the dreams of his youth and would do his utmost best to put aside his differences with Draco to start anew.

His green eyes dropped to her belly and he smiled. The years melted off his face, reminding her of how he'd looked at fourteen, smitten by a beautiful girl named Cho. "Have you thought of a name for her yet?"

"No. I thought that might be something Draco and I discussed this Easter holiday, while the children were gone. We could spend some quality time arguing over it."

Because it would be an argument she knew. He'd want some god-awful wizarding name like 'Beechatrice" or "Nastiel" to fit in with the Black and Malfoy family traditions, and she'd want something Muggle and ordinary, so her daughter could easily fit in either world.

Ginny's eyebrows suggestively waggled. "Oh-ho! Special _alone_ time fighting, hmmm?" Her grin was infectious. "The make-up sex will be so totally worth it."

"Ginny!"

Harry seemed scandalized by the imagery.

Hermione, though, felt suddenly unsure. Would there be a possibility that she'd make some rash judgment in the heat of need and just _jump_ him? She had to admit, feeling as highly aroused as she was recently, it was distinctly a possibility. She'd hate herself for it in the morning, of course…

"'Mione?"

Ginny looked worried, as if she'd realised she might have stepped in a landmine with her joking.

"We…Draco and I…we haven't um, I mean…" Hermione sighed. "We had a…a misunderstanding. A bad one, a few months back. We've only recently begun speaking again."

Harry was instantly alert, his Auror mask firmly in place once more. "What did he do?"

She quickly waved off his concerns, worried her best friend would leap before looking, as was his usual _modus operandi_. "It wasn't his fault. Well, rather…it was," she amended. "But it was a case of mistaking something seen, and hurt feelings resulted. Jealousy is an ugly emotion, and people do and say things under its sway that are difficult to forgive."

"But you're okay?" he asked.

"Yes, now. We're…starting over. Slow and steady this time."

Ginny's wicked grin was back. "As compared to hard, sweaty, and fast before?"

"Oh, my god!" Harry shouted, falling back into the sofa and covering his face with his hands. "Merlin, Gin, you are unbelievable!"

Hermione giggled. "You really are incorrigible," she told her friend, her lips twitching with laughter.

Her girlfriend took a seat in Harry's lap, draping herself across her husband, and boldly kissed his cheek. "Admit it: that's what you like best about me."

Yes, Hermione was sure that was true, for both her and Harry.

 

* * *

 

 

Her friends spent the night on the sofa, which Hermione had transfigured into a wide, King-sized bed before the fire. She draped it with thick, soft blankets to ward off the castle's chill and supplied them with sumptuous pillows for their heads. Then she bade them 'good-night' and retired to her private bed chamber off the main room.

Undressing for bed, she removed the earrings she was wearing and placed them in her jewellery box. As she did so, her attention was claimed by the white box housing the earrings Draco had given her at Christmas. Inside, she knew the sapphire studs were nestled safely in a cloud of white silk.

A courting gift.

He'd wanted to _marry_ her.

Why hadn't she figured it out sooner? If only she'd known…

No, there was no room for 'what ifs' in her life, not anymore. From the day she'd arrived in the wizarding world to this very moment, she'd done more than her fair share of second guessing. She would not give into those types of torturous thoughts any longer, for they bred nothing but misery and self-doubt about events she had no power to change. Instead, she would focus on what was ahead of her—the blank slate that was her life, filled with endless possibilities. She would take things one day at a time and do the best she could with what was thrown at her. It was all that anyone could reasonably do.

Closing the jewellery box she told herself that one day, hopefully sooner rather than later, she would wear those earrings again. Until then, she would work on a friendship with Draco.

Climbing into bed, however, it soon became abundantly clear to her that 'friendship' was only the half of what she wanted from her former lover. As her body warmed under the sheets, she let her hand drift lazily down her middle, imagining that it was Draco's touch she was feeling. Her body responded with an urgent need, and so she bunched her nightgown up over her hips, and dipped her fingers between her thighs.

Wet. She was so slick with want that her fingers easily slid through her parted folds.

Closing her eyes, she gave over to the fantasy that her naughty Slytherin was there, caressing her, whispering wicked things in her ear as he stroked deep into her. It didn't take long for her to tumble over the edge, her orgasm leaving her feeling exhausted and light.

That night, Hermione slept well, dreaming of a little girl with her mother's curls and her father's grey eyes.

 

* * *

 

Easter Sunday saw Harry and Ginny departing for the Burrow to celebrate lunch with the Weasley brood, per tradition. Hermione walked them down to the gates of the school to farewell her friends, opting to stay at Hogwarts, despite her friend's attempts to cajole her into accompanying them.

What she hadn't told either Harry or Gin was that Draco had passed her a note at breakfast requesting they meet later that day to discuss things regarding the baby. Over a late lunch. At a fancy restaurant in the heart of Monte Carlo. Where she was required to wear 'formal robes'.

It was _"still not a date"_ though, according to his letter.

Regardless, she'd take it. It had been far too long since she and Draco had spent any time together, and she was eager to rekindle their relationship.

Slowly, of course.

In truth, she was looking forward to knowing the man behind the lover's mask. She'd glimpsed him here and there over the last year, but like an emerald in the rough, there were still so many facets to him that she didn't know.

He was…complicated, twisted with knots. A puzzle of beautiful, dark pieces.

Merlin, no wonder she was so enchanted.

Waving goodbye to her friends and requesting they give her love to everyone, Hermione waited until they'd Disapparated away before quickly turning and making her way back towards the castle, her stride brisk.

If she was going on a 'not date' today, then she had better start getting ready right away. From experience she knew her hair alone would take hours to fix, and then there were issues with transfiguring one of her dresses to fit, and to still look attractive as it lay over her enlarged belly.

Godric's bones, she'd better hurry!

 

* * *

 

 

Draco appeared at her door bang on time.

Hermione hurried over, but then took a moment to compose her nerves and smooth a hand over her clothing before opening the door and inviting him into her private suite.

As he stepped past her, his eyes quickly took her in front head to toe, and her insides warmed at the heat reflected in his gaze. "You look lovely," he complimented her with a jaunty smile, and passed her a small, loose bouquet consisting of wild purple primroses that looked to have been gathered from the castle's borders. "For the most beautiful girl in the world."

His words made Hermione's mouth go dry. "I thought this wasn't a date," she croaked, unsure how to take his offering.

"Oh, it isn't," he confirmed, and reached out to gently lay a hand upon her tummy, "but can't I bring my lady flowers?"

Oh.

He'd meant them for their unborn daughter, not her.

Ah.

"Y-yes, that…that's quite‒" His hands softly stroking and tracing the tangible evidence of her pregnancy for the first time were beginning to make her feel things she oughtn't. Like a melting resolve to keep things platonic for the now. "Thank you—for her, I mean. I'll just put these in water."

She'd intended upon moving, but the tender look upon his face as he examined the place where their baby slept soundly under her heart had reduced her to goo on the spot.

God, was it possible to love him even more this time around?

"Um, you look good, too," she said, mesmerized by how close they stood to each other. She could feel his warm breath upon her cheek as he exhaled. "Very good. Yummy." It only took a second for her to catch her mistake and to feel such mortification pass through her that she wasn't sure she wouldn't faint on the spot from it. "I-I-I meant 'yummy' as in 'I'm hungry'…aren't you?"

But even that innocent statement had a double entendre that she hadn't intended. For Morgana's sake, could she mess this up any more?

"Er, is it hot in here?" she asked, fanning her face with a hand. "I should really turn down the fire before we leave. Wouldn't want to burn the castle down."

Without further ado, she turned and headed straight for the hearth to magically reduce its flames… Except, she'd forgotten her wand, which was in her clutch over on the table near the door. She eyed the distance to it and sighed with exasperation.

Behind her, Draco chuckled. "Here, allow me."

His magic was a cool breeze as it passed by her. The snap and crackle of the fire dimmed, as did the light in the room. A second after that, he approached from behind and took back the flowers from her hand.

"Hey!" she protested as he broke the long stems to shorten them. "What‒?"

He began tucking the pretty purple flowers into her messy up-do, arranging them in her hair as if he had a flare for the art. He smiled with a cat's satisfaction when he was done. "There, with your wild hair, you look just like one of those nymphs from Greek mythology."

Internally, Hermione snorted. A _nymphomaniac_ was more like it, she thought, as her body's reaction to his small touches made it clear that her lust for Draco was making her behave like a complete ninny.

Determined to do better and not to give in to her hormones again, she led him to the door grabbing her clutch and her cloak from a peg on the wall on the way out. "So, what time is our Portkey?" she asked, distracting him so he wouldn't notice her discreet readjusting of her dress to show off a little less cleavage.

He took one of her sweaty hands in his and tucked it into his arm. "Relax, Granger, we're just two friends, having fun together. Not a date, remember?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out nice and slow, she nodded. Yes, they were learning to be friends again. Today was about creating a foundation, not jumping into bed. She could do this. They could.

"Right," she said, telling her manic heart to calm down. "Friends."

As she shut and locked the door to her private chambers behind them, and allowed Draco to lead her to where they would catch their Portkey, she tried hard not to recall the last time she had worked with one of her friends, who had also become her lover…and how that had ended in disaster.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'not date' episode was written, but adding it here would slow the pace of the story, so I've decided to wait to post it up until after the last chapter of the fic, as sort of an aside for your amusement. It really doesn't impact the fic, and is more fan-service than anything else.

* * *

 

**Early April, 2007**

A few days after their 'not date', where she and Draco had talked, joked, and harmlessly flirted a bit, Hermione received a letter from her mother, requesting her to come home. Her father, it seemed, was having a bit of a difficult time throwing off a rather nasty illness and her mum thought it would be nice if she visited him to cheer his spirits. After all, she hadn't seen them since last September, and letters once a week just weren't the same thing.

An odd foreboding settled in at the too-lighthearted tone of her mother's note, and so Hermione made arrangements to leave on Friday night, after classes were finished.

"Be safe," Draco offered, as he saw her off at the Floo in the teacher's lounge. He took her hand and pressed it between his palms in a supportive, comforting manner. "Fire-call me if you need anything."

"I will," she promised him, her hand lingering in his for a moment longer than necessary, and then she pulled away and was off to the Leaky Cauldron in London.

A flash of green and one nauseating ride later, and she was spit out into an ancient stone fireplace that overlooked a room packed with wizards and witches dining and imbibing a bit after a hard day at work. After greeting Hannah Abbott, who was tending bar, Hermione made her way out the pub's front door and caught a Muggle taxi to Waterloo Station to catch the 5:50pm train to Sutton. Approximately forty minutes later, she arrived at the station. Another taxi ride, and suddenly she found herself standing outside her family's home.

Looking up at the dimly lit house from the kerb, that instinct that said something was wrong grew louder in her head. She hurried up the walk to the front door.

Her mother had the front door flung open and Hermione bundled up in a warm hug before she could raise her hand to the bell.

"Oh, my girl! How we've missed you!" her mother proclaimed, tears filling her eyes. She leaned back and took Hermione's face between her hands. "I'm so glad you've come!"

No matter the excitement of the moment, nothing got by her mother. The woman's eyes were like a hawk's, and her deductive reasoning as sharp as a knife's edge. The moment she noted her daughter's chubbier cheeks, Hermione knew her pregnancy secret was blown up.

Her mum's gaze dropped to Hermione's protruding belly, which had been hidden by glamour charms. "Oh." Her tears welled up and her mouth rounded with surprise. "Oh, my."

"Hi, Mum. I've missed you, too," Hermione said, exhausted from her journey. She'd never had issues with travelling distances before, but it seemed that had changed, too. "Can I come in?"

"What? Oh! Yes, of course! Come in, come in!" her mother ushered her into the house, took her coat and hung it on the peg by the door, and then sat down on the plush, grey sofa next to Hermione in the small, comfortable living room. "Something to drink, eat?" When Hermione waved her mum off, the woman turned to her and smiled. "Well, then…it seems you've some news for us."

Right to the point, that was her mother.

The apple didn't fall far from there tree, there.

"Um, yes." She waved the charm off her person and allowed her very visible pregnancy to be revealed. "Surprise! In about four more months, you'll be a grandmother."

The answer came not from in front of her, but from behind.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but did you say, 'green butter'?" her father asked, apparently haven gotten out of bed to come down to greet her. The tie of his robe was loosely done up, and his thinning hair was sticking up in all directions. The slight glazed look to his eyes and the waxiness of his skin told Hermione that he was fighting off a fever. "Why on earth would anyone possible eat such a thing? Can't be good for you."

With that, he fainted.

 

* * *

 

Muggle doctors were extremely procedural when dealing with foreign illness, specifically when it came to those which offered no antibiotic treatment.

"Hepatitis A?" Hermione looked between her mother and the physician. "But how on earth would he have caught such a thing?"

The doctor turned to her mother. "Mrs. Granger, have either of you been out of the country on holiday between the last two to eight weeks?"

Her mother sighed. "Yes, we've been cruise hopping fairly regularly since December. We've gone to the Caribbean, the Panama Canal, the Galapagos Islands, Central America, and just came back two weeks ago from Beijing to Jeju Island. Richard became ill a few days after our return."

The doctor nodded. "That explains it. Your husband obviously ate or drank something contaminated while you were out of country, most likely from your most recent trip, as symptoms generally begin to show within two weeks." He made a notation on his clip board, presumably with that information. "Fortunately, unlike Hep B or C, Hep A doesn't cause chronic liver disease. Unfortunately, there is no specific treatment or cure for Hep A. The most we can do is establish a strict nutrition schedule for him and to encourage him to drink more fluids to prevent dehydration. He will continue to vomit and suffer diarrhoea in the meantime, and it could take weeks or months before his system regulates itself once more. The fever " He paused, glancing back into the room where Hermione's father lay awake and aware in a hospital cot, attached to machines. "That concerns me at his age, but isn't irregular for the illness. We'll keep him overnight to monitor him and work to get that down, and then you can take him home, Mrs. Granger."

As her mother went into the hospital room to be with Hermione's father, Hermione stopped the doctor before he moved onto his next patient.

"Doctor, is there any risk of exposure to an unborn baby?" she asked, concerned for both her father and her child. "I'm five months along."

The doctor looked down at her belly and smiled. "No, Ms. Granger. Hep A is only contagious if you've consumed anything contaminated with the virus, or if the virus is injected directly into one's bloodstream. It's not airborne or passed through the skin by touch. Your baby is quite safe." He patted her arm and moved off, but turned at the last moment to caution her. "You may, however, want to caution your mother to toss all garbage in the house, to replace all the food stuffs in your home, to thoroughly clean all bathroom and kitchen surfaces, and to wash all your dishes, cups, and utensils with hot, clean water and soap the moment you return. Taking such extra precautions can't hurt."

Hermione agreed.

As the doctor walked away, Hermione went in to sit at her father's side, and at her parent's unrelenting prodding, proceeded to tell them the cliff notes version of her life since she'd last seen them. Her parents were both understanding and supportive, as they'd ever been of her decisions, and although they were sad for her that things hadn't worked out with Ron, they were both extremely excited about being first time grandparents.

The news of a granddaughter coming soon seemed to lift her father's spirits, in fact, and the grey pallour that had coloured his face when she'd first seen him that evening had been replaced with a healthier, pinker tone. His blue-grey eyes sparkled not with fever now, but with anticipation.

As she left her parents briefly to go back to her family's home to collect some things for her mother to stay over for the night, that dark, chilling vibe she'd felt earlier had eased. It seemed she'd gotten home at the exact right moment, and now her parents had something good to look forward to…and her father had another reason to fight for his health.

 

* * *

 

The next day, she Fire-called Hogwarts and spoke with Draco, updating him as to what had happened at home and the hospital the night before. An hour later, he appeared on her parents' doorstep with a well-dressed house-elf in tow.

"Relax, we've got this," he told her, ushering her over to the sofa and forcing her to sit out their thorough cleaning of the house.

Of course, she grumbled over being kept from the work and at being served breakfast and lunch like some sort of visiting royal dignitary, but when the elf threw her an exasperated-borderline-hostile look after hearing Hermione go on for hours about it, she finally settled down and zipped shut her mouth, letting the dear thing get on with its chores. Long ago, back during her tenure with the Department of Magical Creatures, she'd been forced to finally accept that house-elves didn't want to be freed—a lesson learned only after a group of them came to her office one afternoon to protest her attempts to legislate such a thing. So, instead, she'd worked on laws to improve the conditions of their servitude. The result was a compromise she'd been content to let stand before moving on the M.L.E.: a legal protection against violence by owners, standards for private rooming facilities within wizarding homes, as well as for clean clothing, good food, medicines, and fresh water supplies to be made available to house-elves, and fair labor rules for working hours and time off. It was the best she could accomplish in the time allotted and under the circumstances, and it was the only reason for her capitulation now: because she knew Draco wouldn't abuse his elf, and the elf didn't want her interference anyhow.

By mid-afternoon, she couldn't stand being idle any longer. She went to find Draco, who was out in the backyard behind a series of Notice-Me-Not wards, using magic to trim the verge and tidy up the garden area.

"Isn't your father coming home today?" he asked as he monitored the snipping of the rose bushes, in that Slytherin way he had of moving her in the direction he wanted simply by suggesting something that required her attention. "Tootie-Toot-Toot can help get his bedroom ready, if you need."

"Tootie-? Er, the  _elf_ , you mean?" What a bizarre thing to call herself! "Is that really her name?"

"Yes. She can do a fine impression of a train whistle when entertaining a young boy of three, you see."

"So you named her, then?" He nodded once and she mulled that one over. "Well, what was her name before that?"

Draco shrugged. "No idea. Why don't you ask her?"

Hermione recognised that as another sly attempt to get her in out of the spring chill. Of course, she ignored the advice, watching instead as her baby's father expertly trimmed away the dead or diseased limbs from the shrub, knowing just where a Slicing Hex was needed and with how much pressure was required so as not to shock the plant.

"How did you learn how to do that? Correctly pruning the roses, I mean. Most people don't understand that there's actually a science behind it."

He glanced at her once, before turning back to concentrate on his task. "I'm a Potions Master, Granger. That does require some knowledge of competent handling of plants, you know."

She watched him a bit longer, noting that he had a keen eye for gardening and a skill that seemed just a little too well-practised to be strictly apothecary in nature. "Yes, but you've done this before, too."

"Mmm," he grunted in agreement, but didn't expound.

Later, she decided, she'd get to the bottom of that interesting mystery, but only after she'd gone to the hospital to check in with her parents.

"In any case, I'm off to see Dad. Be back later," she told him, and before she could stop to think about what she was doing, she rose up on tiptoe and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for doing all this. You and Tootie-Toot-Toot, that is."

Before he could reply, she Disapparated away.

 

* * *

 

The doctor had decided to keep her father over for one more night for observation, as he'd been rather dehydrated when they'd brought him in initially, and he still had slightly elevated liver enzymes. Hermione decided to stay an extra day as a result, wanting to make sure her father was out of the woods before returning to Hogwarts.

Having brought a change of clothing for her parents, as well as their toiletries, and book for each of them to read when they tired of the telly, she waited in the hallway for them to clean up. She then set about arranging for their meals for the evening, and checked in with the doctor on her father's updated prognosis before she left around seven o'clock to return home.

By the time she'd reappeared at her parent's door, the house was meticulously clean from top to bottom. The front and back yards had been managed, too, and were now ready for the spring blooming to come.

Draco had really gone all-out to help.

Her heart soared at that thought. He'd really been living up to his promise to fix things, to help them find their way back to each other after all the darkness that had come between them. It almost seemed unbelievable that the callous, narcissistic boy she'd known back in their early days of school had matured into a man of such deep, complex feelings.

She supposed the war had fundamentally altered them all, though, hadn't it?

It was quite odd, and a little ironic that where Draco had come through the other side of his trial by fire a better person, the same couldn't be said for the 'heroes' of the war. Harry, for instance, had become clingy and controlling in the after math, and Ginny less independent, more domesticated. Ron had evolved into a selfish pleasure-seeker, and as for herself—she'd become a liar and a coward. Voldemort had poisoned their lives and murdered their loved ones, and it seemed, that had taken something from each of them. They'd lost their shine.

Meanwhile, Draco had slowly, inevitably found his.

Was it strange that it had taken her falling in love with him, the boy who had been her enemy once upon a time, for her to positively change the course of her life?

Was it even weirder that her change was, or so it seemed, positively affecting the others—Ron, Ginny, and Harry, as well.

It was funny to her now that she'd once thought, at the start of her relationship with the blond Potions Professor, that it would ruin her life and her friend's lives, when was doing just the opposite.

"Maybe it was all fated, after all," she admitted to the wind with a resigned, but happy sigh.

She made her way up the steps to the front door and used wandless magic to unlock it.

As she entered her parent's house, the first thing she noticed was the small fire burning in the living room's hearth, warming the place in a way that electrical heat never could: right down to her bones. Her gaze next fell on Draco sprawled out on the sofa before its cheery heat, napping. His long legs hung over the edge to keep his shoes off the furniture, but that caused his head to lie at any angle that she thought couldn't have been very comfortable. A throw blanket was tossed over his hip, covering the top half of his body.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen so as not to wake him, she next found the house-elf, Tootie-Toot-Toot, fixing them dinner. A lovely stew bubbled on the gas stove, and the smell of spiced meat and freshly baked bread was heavy in the air. A kettle of hot water sat waiting for tea, too.

Glancing around, she noted how spic and span the tile and the countertops and the cupboards were; they gleamed. When she opened the drawer to take out the utensils, every single one of them was polished to a high shine. The dishes had been thoroughly washed, too.

She thanked Tootie for all her help and praised her for being so thorough. Unlike Dobby, the elf took the compliments well. She then cautioned Hermione to take care of herself, the 'young Misses', and 'Master Draco' before popping back to, presumably, Malfoy Manor.

Gently, Hermione crossed back into the living room and woke Draco from his nap, letting him know dinner was on. It wasn't as grand an affair as the restaurant in Monaco had been, and the food wasn't as rich, although it was quite good, but somehow that meal was equally as romantic. With the fire crackling in the background, the lights dimmed to just a few candles she'd magically lit around the room, they spoke in hushed tones as they sat next to each other at the small table and ate.

"So, gardening."

"Mmm."

That noncommittal answer, she was beginning to realise, was his way of forcing her to ask direct questions, rather than hint around. Sneaky Slytherin.

"Do you do a lot of it? And if so, where?"

He smirked, having achieved what he'd wanted in requiring her to be frank in her inquisition. "Twice a year, I trim up the bushes and trees at home."

Did he do so as a hobby or for some other reason? She couldn't understand how someone so insanely wealthy would want to do such a thing by hand, even with magic, unless they enjoyed it. Her desire to know warred with her caution not to pry.

Curiosity won out, obviously.

"Why not just hire someone to come in and landscape for you?"

He shrugged. "Because it's the duty of all Malfoy heirs, from the age of five onward, to personally care for the family crypts on the property. That includes trimming the verge and pulling the weeds."

Crypts? He had a  _cemetery_  in his back yard?

Well, of course he did! It wasn't as if the Malfoys could  _possibly_  mingle their remains in the same ground as that of 'lowly' half-bloods and 'filthy' Muggle-borns, as other wizarding families did in places like Godric's Hollow. That would be… _gasp_ …sacrilegious.

Wisely, she kept her sarcasm in check and her feelings on the matter to herself.

"It also required the mausoleums to be cleaned inside and out, to get rid of the dust and dirt. Father would help me with that until I got my own wand at eleven. From then on, though, every start of summer holiday and every Christmas, I would see the tombs were cleaned until the marble gleamed white."

Every Christmas holiday… "So, that's why you went home this last Christmas, instead of staying at Hogwarts?"

He shrugged. "I went to see my parents, too, but yes, I also went for that reason. It's tradition."

A morbid one, she thought. No wonder he'd dreaded the trip.

Well, that and seeing Lucius couldn't have been easy, either. Hermione knew from Draco's own admittance that he and his father hadn't gotten on since the end of his fifth year at school. She knew Draco still loved the man, but he'd guessed by what  _hadn't_  been said that a lot of respect had been lost as a result of what had gone down during those years during and after the war—the whole truth of which Hermione still didn't know. Yes, she'd been present at each Death Eater trial that summer after Voldemort's fall, but there was a lot of personal drama between the three Malfoys, no doubt, which the public had not been privy to, and which Draco did not disclose even now.

"So," she said, attempting to shift the topic away from Lucius and Narcissa, for Draco's sake. "You tended to the flowers and shrubs that decorated your family's tombs, and that's how you knew how to trim the roses like a pro, then? Well, that's‒" A bit depressing for a young child, who should be out playing instead? "‒quite a skill you've learned!"

He glanced at her, and in his expression, she knew he'd read her like a book.

"It's ghoulish to ask a child to do that, especially on school holidays, and you know it." His lips twitched with amusement. "Don't worry. I have no intention of making our daughter do the same, although a visit out there to lay down some flowers once a year probably isn't going to traumatize her."

Hermione's hand automatically moved to her belly, where she stroked over the enlarged bump. "That would be fine. My parents visit their parents at the cemetery every year. Besides, I don't ever think I've seen my father's rose garden or mother's Portugal laurels looking quite so well-groomed, so perhaps a bit of gardening would be good for her."

Draco leaned back in his chair and watched her rub lovingly over the place where their daughter lay. "Names," he finally said, distracting her. "I've an idea, if you'll hear me out."

Inwardly, Hermione groaned. This had been the discussion she'd been dreading.

"Lay it on me," she said, gearing up for a battle.

"Carina."

Completely disarmed by such perfection, Hermione just stared at him in wonder. That was it…Carina. It was  _the_  most splendid name for their little girl!

No war necessary.

"I've an idea for a middle name," she shyly offered. "Rose."

In truth, that had only come to her today, when she'd watched him gardening.

Draco smiled ear-to-ear, clearly liking her contribution equally as much.

With the grace of a leopard, he got up from his chair and then dropped to his knees before her. Reaching out his hands, he reverently laid them on her distended belly. "Carina Rose Malfoy. I love it."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Granger," she insisted. He glanced up at her, surprised by the correction. "We're not married."

A wordless moment passed when she didn't dare breathe, but then Draco's lids became heavy and his smile a lazy, assured thing. "'Granger-Malfoy' it is, then."

And just like that, many things between them were settled.

"Carina Rose Granger-Malfoy," she happily agreed.


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

**Mid-April, 2007**

Hermione rushed down to the dungeons, walking as fast as she dared without giving away her glamoured belly and being careful of on-coming traffic to prevent accidental run-ins. By the time she got to Draco's Potion's classroom, she was out of breath, sweaty, and a bit in need of a nap.

Still, her excitement couldn't be contained.

"Draco?" she called out. Fortunately, his morning class had finished and he had a break until lunch to grade papers, so he was alone behind his desk. He looked up. "She kicked!" she told him.

He dropped his quill and met her in the middle of the room as they rushed towards each other with elation.

Reaching out with trembling fingers, he put his hands upon her belly where she indicated. They both held their breaths and waited for more movement.

And waited.

And waited.

"Hmm, that's odd " she was saying when she felt another decisive boot to her innards that made her instead expel a heavy breath. "Ow!"

Draco's face lit up like a  _Lumos_. He seemed both overjoyed and surprised. "She's strong," he said with a grin.

The baby kicked again.

They both laughed in sheer happiness.

"At least I won't have to worry about her defending herself from boys," he proudly proclaimed. "She's Beater material, though, definitely!"

Hermione sighed. "Seems Ginny was right: Quidditch is in Carina Rose's future, after all." She looked up and gave her baby's father a playful stink-eye. "This is  _your_  fault, you know. I can't stand flying! If it was up to me, she'd never leave the library."

Draco didn't reply. Instead, he was staring down at her as if he was deciding something important.

"What?" she asked.

Before she could react, he swooped down and melded his mouth to hers.

 _Oh, dear lord,_  she thought. She'd missed this so much!

A whimper of surrender from her was all she could afford before her hands were on him, tangling in his hair, and their tongues were meeting. They were ravenous for each other, kissing until she was so dizzy she needed to sit before her legs gave out.

Draco instinctively caught her and carefully lowered her into one of the student chairs. He followed her all the way down, kneeling before her to assure their mouths never parted. When he did pull back a bit, it was merely to pet her face. Their foreheads pressed together, and their eyes met.

"I'm sorry, I know you want to go slow, but-"

"It's okay," she told him. Her hands touched him everywhere, too, relearning him and satisfying some of her yearnings. "I've missed this. Missed you  _so_   _much,_  Draco."

He clung to her as if he'd believed he'd never hear such things from her again. "Slow. We'll go slowly, like you want, but…I'd like to touch you like this, too." He kissed her again, tenderly, and whispered against her lips, "I've missed you, too."

They held each other and talked in whispers until the clock tolled far above them, reminding them that the next group of children would be on their way down to the Potions classroom soon.

As they parted, Draco kissed the knuckles of her fingers. "Thank you for coming all the way down here to share our daughter with me…and for this second chance."

Hermione's heart had never been lighter.

 

* * *

**Late-April, 2007**

Harry and Ginny came to Hogsmeade again at the end of the month, Ginny insisting that only Honeydukes had the kind of candy she craved. Hermione thought it a clever excuse to get Harry, who was getting a bit paunchy around the middle from his emotional contentedness, to get out and walk more. It helped Gin keep the weight off, too.

…And as Hermione decided to walk down to the station from the castle, now that the weather had improved, it further helped her cause for weight maintenance.

Draco came with her, and despite the stares they received from the children (and the smiles from the staff), he openly held her hand all the way down to the gate and from there, to the station. They talked as they walked side-by-side.

"I'm glad your father's feeling better."

She hummed in agreement. "It seems the worst has passed, and he's on the mend. Mum says he's even back to eating all the things he oughtn't, just because he can. Snack food, mostly. It's driving her mad. She's come to despise the smell of gherkins."

Draco laughed, and Hermione could help but be entranced by the sound. He had a very lovely, masculine laugh, she thought.

"Whereas you adore pickles to the point of madness," he pointed out.

Just thinking about it now made her mouth suddenly water. "I think it must be the salt. That and the crunchy, crisp feeling when you bite into them."

She smacked her lips, and her lover laughed again.

He teased her then with a list of all her favourite foods on the way down to the station, so that her steps quickened as her stomach rumbled. By the time they got to the platform, she'd worked up quite an appetite and a good sweat.

"You're so Slytherin sometimes it scares me," she told him wiping at the moisture above her lip and at her brow.

He leaned down and kissed her, right there in front of everyone, as the train rolled into the station.

"Do you mind it so much, my sly snakey-ness?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and mock sighed. "Not really. It's kind of fun being naughty sometimes."

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "That's what I've been telling you for a long time, Granger."

She shivered with arousal, as he said her last name in that familiar, little growly voice that he used to use when he was deep inside her, thrusting away, talking to her while driving her onto orgasm.

Did she say she wanted to take things slow? Why was that again?

"You two are like lovesick Crups during the mating season," Ginny said, standing on the platform nearby. "We've been here a full minute and you've been too busy sucking face to notice!"

Hermione reluctantly broke away from Draco and turned to hug her friend, careful of their bellies bumping. "Sorry! It's just…" Her cheeks felt hot at the memory of what she'd just been thinking. "Um, yes, well." She turned to Harry and hugged him, too. "Hello!"

Harry hugged her back, but she could feel his attention shift to his formal rival behind her. "Hello, you," he replied in her ear. "You look good."

She stepped back with a smile. "Yes, well, Draco's been spoiling me." She took her lover's hand and looked up at him, then back at her friends. "So, um…you all know each other."

Harry and Draco just stared at each other, sizing the other up.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a worried glance as the seconds ticked by, awkward in their silence.

"You still play?" Draco finally asked Harry.

Her dark-haired friend adjusted his glasses on his nose and nodded. "Pick-up game?"

"One-on-one?"

"Best two out of three?"

"Sure. Lunch?"

"Good idea."

They stepped towards each other, shook hands, and that was that.

Draco turned back to her, extending his arm for her to take.

Hermione looked up at him in awe. "Impressive."

"Quite," he agreed with a grin.

"How do you men  _do_  that?" Ginny asked, exasperated. She threw her hands in the air. "You have an entire conversation in, like, three words! I swear to Godric, your entire gender is from an alien planet—where oxygen is scarce!" She walked away, grumbling loudly. "It's totally unnatural, I tell you! Just freakish!"

Every woman in hearing distance broke out into gales of laughter in agreement.

And the men, they just smiled tolerantly and traded silent, meaningful glances with each other.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was sitting in the Quidditch bleachers next to Ginny and Neville, along with pretty much most of the rest of the bloody school, shaking her head at the nonsensical pride of men and wondering why she hadn't put a stop to this nonsense back at the train station.

That teensy (barely happened) conversation had morphed into full on ragging throughout lunch between Draco and Harry, who were still as antagonistic as ever, but now they were almost…friendly…about it.

Ginny had been right: men were weird.

And now here they were, playing a game of Snitch catching in front of the entire school, as if they were reliving their past 'glory days' on the pitch against each other. Best two out of three.

" _For old time's sake, Potter. Unless you're too out of shape…"_

Out in the middle of the pitch, Madam Hooch was mounted on a broom to referee. As she went over the rules, a  _Sonorus_  cast upon her voice so everyone in the arena could hear, in her hand, she held a Golden Snitch—one of three that would be thrown that day.

"I'll release them one at a time. Best two out of three wins," she explained.

Neville leaned into her, holding his hand out to shake. "Harry, for five galleons," he bet.

"I'm with you," Gin said. "Five on my man."

"Draco, for ten," Hermione countered and they all three shook on it.

All around them, similar bets were being placed. Theodore Nott was even tending to the betting board in the teacher's tower, she wryly noted. So far, her best friend was favoured to win at three to one odds. Hermione knew something the others didn't, however: Harry hadn't sat a broom since his school days, and Draco flew almost daily, when there was time between classes and duties. He hadn't lost his competitive edge, whereas Auror Potter had spent far too much time sitting behind a desk than out in the field chasing bad guys. Hence the extra weight around his middle that concerned Ginny enough to drag him around wherever she went.

Draco, Hermione knew from personal experience, was all lean, strong muscle. He had the kind of body a woman itched to run her hands and mouth all over…

Watching him now, as he sat his broom, his casual clothing transfigured into a hybrid Quidditch uniform, the same as Harry's, his thighs clenching around the wooden handle to hold him upright as he adjusted his gloves, Hermione felt her heart crawl into her throat with a lust so consuming that it had her clenching her back teeth until it passed.

Shouting and people getting to their feet for the ten second count-down knocked her out of her headspace and back into the real world.

The Snitch had already been released by Madam Hooch, giving it a good head-start. Draco and Harry both hunched over their brooms, flattening themselves as much as possible in anticipation of an aerodynamic lift-off. The crowd ticked down the seconds in a deafening, simultaneous roar.

"4…3…2…1…GO!"

Both former Seekers acquired their target with ease, and then they were zooming off from the ground at the same time, the power of their brooms being equal. With his longer arms, however, Draco was able to easily snatch and grab the Snitch right out from in front of Harry's flight path before Harry could react, so after only ten minutes of Seeking, Round One went to Hermione's lover.

Of course, she was terribly torn over that outcome.

On the one hand: yes, Draco caught the Snitch! For a man who had spent much of his boyhood draped in failure and who had spent all of his adult life trying to make up for his poor choices, this small win would feel like the earth had shifted for him. It was an important moment and no matter how short or long a time it lasted, this first, real win would be with him forever.

On the other hand: poor Harry! By the way he was breathing hard right then she knew he was probably feeling quite out of shape. Hermione didn't want to see her best friend humiliated, especially as his short-lived Quidditch rivalry with Draco had made Hogwarts legend. She'd secretly cheer him on for the second round.

"4…3…2…1…GO!"

The second catch went to Harry, as Hermione had quietly hoped. He'd managed to snag the Snitch as it suddenly stopped and reversed course, colliding with his chest. It had been a lucky catch, but a good one nonetheless, especially after the long, grueling chase for it, which had lasted half an hour and taken them all around the course.

Tied one-one, her boys faced off for the final round.

"4…3…2…1…GO!"

Before Rolanda had even finished dropping her hand to signal the race begun, Harry had shot straight up and to the right, pursuing the Snitch in earnest.

Draco, meanwhile, took a second longer to consider the air currents instead, testing them by wetting his finger and holding it up into the air. Even from the distance, Hermione could see he'd factored in the breeze to determine something important before making his move.

She wondered what her lover knew that she and, apparently, Harry didn't.

Finally convinced of a direction, Draco kicked off from the ground, spiraling upwards and to the left of the arena. Allowing his broom its head, he let it lead him towards his mysterious destination under its own power, streaking through the air at an upwards angle. Within seconds, he'd become a black and green blur against the backdrop of the stand's brightly coloured pinions that snapped to and fro in the wind.

Harry, Hermione noted, was headed in the opposite direction, towards the Quidditch towers decked out in Gryffindor colours.

"What's Malfoy up to now?" Neville asked her, just as confused as she was by Draco's odd start.

Had someone, perhaps, jinxed his broom?

The Snitch's golden face flashed against the grey skyline, streaking around on the right side of the arena…only to shift course suddenly and head left, as if it had spied something interesting and needed to investigate it immediately. It headed straight for one of Slytherin's Quidditch towers.

As if he'd been hit with a nasty curse, Draco's broom suddenly tipped over and went into free fall. It headed for the ground at an astonishing speed.

Hermione froze in horror as she watched the man she loved tumbling to his death.

It took a beat longer for her instincts to kick in and for her to reach for her wand inside her jacket pocket. Before she could extract it, however, the Golden Snitch fluttered right past Draco. Had she not looked up at just that second to cast an  _Arresto Momentum_  on him, she would have missed the most brilliant move she'd ever witnessed in the game: with his left hand, her sneaky Slytherin held onto his broom, and with the right hand, he reached out and snagged the little, hovering ball right out of the air as he hurtled for the ground at breakneck speed.

He'd fallen on purpose so he could grab the Snitch as he'd plummeted past it!

"Holy Helga, he did it!" Ginny cried, as surprised as the rest of them as Draco's broom halted on the spot, fully under his control once more. He climb back on it with an easy pull of muscle, and then from there, he floated safely back to the ground.

"Draco Malfoy caught the final Snitch!" Madam Hooch announced. "Two out of three. Winner!"

Everyone roared with excitement, regardless of House affiliation or betting ticket, for Draco's move had been the brassiest ploy any of them had ever seen.

Hermione was, of course, on her feet and stomping and whooping with the best of them as well, proud of her man for enacting such a sneaky plan with a lion's courage. She'd, of course, give him an earful later, when they were without an audience, regarding being so reckless with his life for a mere game, but right then, she couldn't have been prouder of him.

"They'll be calling that one the 'Malfoy Manoeuver' for sure!" Ginny praised, clapping too.

Her girlfriend's voice echoed throughout the school grounds, only encouraging a louder response from the crowd. People whistled, ululated, and many of the Slytherins howled like wolves at Draco's gutsy triumph. Even Harry seemed awe-struck by what he'd just witnessed. He landed at his Madam Hooch's side, his expression one of amazement for his childhood rival as he enthusiastically shook Draco's hand and offered him congratulations.

Hermione's heart pounded for a different reason now as she watched Draco's expression transform. He seemed genuinely affected by Harry's accolades and by the crowd's cheering. In his grey eyes, there was wonder that so much applause was for him.

" _Years of being blacklisted, outcast, seen only as the shite ex-Death Eater, persona non grata…"_

He'd told her the night they'd made up that he'd never thought he'd move past that legacy, and even despite their relationship, she knew he still felt unworthy.

Looking up at the students he taught and at his working colleagues, she could tell it was finally sinking in that he didn't have to wear that black mantle around his shoulders any longer. He could let go of the past at long last, and move on to build a new life.

She rubbed her pregnant belly under her jacket.

They could, together.

As expected, her lover's frank show of emotion lasted only a few moments, before his natural Slytherin reserve kicked in and his expression altered so that the familiar, smug mask he wore in public fell back into place. He even tossed Harry an arrogant smirk that taunted,  _"I told you I could whip you, old man"._  Still, they'd all seen Draco's guard drop and his true emotions revealed for just a moment, and now they all knew the truth: that Draco Malfoy had a heart, after all, and that it could be moved.

Draco tugged Harry closer and leaned down to whisper in his ear. Whatever was said caused Harry to nod and then turn his attention to her, Ginny, and Neville up in the stands. The grin on his face was one of anticipatory glee.

A blink later, Draco was hovering right in front of her, having moved that quickly from the ground to her spot in the stadium with little effort. His grey eyes glinted with mischief as he held his hand out to her. In the centre of his palm, the Snitch lay docile.

"Here."

Hermione was unsure what to do next. "You want me to hold it for you?"

Next to her, Ginny elbowed her and hissed in excitement, "Take it! It's a public declaration! Seekers only give their winning Snitches to those they love!"

Hermione looked into Draco's face, noted his challenging expression, but far back in his grey gaze there was vulnerability, a fear of her rejection.

"Oh! Of course!"

Her cheeks on fire, Hermione reached out and took the Snitch from Draco's hand. The crowd erupted into cheers again. Her lover's expression warmed with relief, but then of course, he went and ruined it by acting all smug and arrogant. Leaning forward over his broom, he bent and grabbed her up, kissing her aggressively full on the mouth in front of everyone, as if the declare to the world,  _THIS IS MINE_.

And for those seconds, she didn't care. His tongue thrust into her mouth and claimed her sanity, and the rest of the world just dropped away.

Hermione's head was reeling by the time he set her back on her feet, and then he was gone, flying around the stadium like a Greek champion, fist raised and grinning like a conquering hero as students and staff clapped and whistled and cat-called at his brazen behaviour.

Slow-schmoe. She was so going to jump him later, when they were alone. Five months without him giving it to her hard and deep… Yes, she was going to correct that issue pronto.

"Alright, I give. You can keep him," Neville told her.

"Hells yes, she can!" Ginny stated with a raucous laugh. "Swoon!"

Sighing in happiness, Hermione turned to her two friends. "I think you're right." She held her free hand out to them and gave them the 'gimme' wiggle. "Now, about that bet…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my daughter recently challenged me to slyly drop song titles and band names into one of my stories, so I thought this fic (specifically, this chapter) was a good place to do that, as it's one of the more lighthearted of my tales. See how many references you can find in the text below!

* * *

**Early-May, 2007**

It took another two weeks for Hermione and Draco to find the time to really be alone, what with their last-minute prep of her fifth and seventh-year students for their big, end-of-year exams.

"O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are stressful enough when you're the one taking them," she complained, as she entered Draco's chambers at his invite, breezing past him with arms full of books, "but I'd never anticipated that being on the other end of things might be equally as busy until I'd started teaching!"

Her baby's father swept around her and lightened her load by taking the books from her and setting them on a side table. "Almost over," he reminded her. "Breathe, Granger. You'll get through this as you always do." After all, it was like this at the end of every year, and they were both no longer neophytes at exam qualification and proctoring procedures.

She settled down onto his sofa before the fire and rubbed over her belly. Carina Rose had been quite active of late, and her weight was beginning to become quite considerable. Hermione's whole body ached on a regular basis now, and lately, she'd been suffering leg cramps and lower back pain. Poppy assured her it was all very normal, of course, including the weird bouts of hiccupping her daughter seemed to be doing in her belly which jiggled her at odd hours, but still Hermione was concerned with how much weight she'd gained. Surely she was bigger than normal?

It certainly felt that way.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushions as Draco came and took the seat next to her. "It's just all so bloody exhausting this year," she grumbled.

He laid his hand over hers. "I didn't see you at dinner. Have you eaten anything since lunch?"

Always practical, her Slytherin lover.

"Mmm," she grunted tiredly, falling into his shoulder as the couch shifted with his weight. "Tea. Snack."

"You need to eat," he whispered at the top of her head and gave it a small kiss.

She fell asleep just like that, however, lulled by the fire's warmth, the soft cushions under her, and the comforting, familiar scent of Draco all around.

Hours later, she awoke to find Draco had laid her on her side, taken her shoes off, set a comfy pillow under her head, and covered her with a blanket. The fire in the hearth continued to gently burn, but the rest of the room was dark, indicating all the candles and lanterns had been doused. Chagrined that she'd wasted the first evening off she'd had in a while by sleeping through it, she slowly sat up, stretching, expecting to see Draco nearby, but was surprised to find him gone. No doubt he'd gone off to his own bed already, she thought, with a quick look at the clock on the mantle.

The actual time shocked her.

"Half twelve!" she quietly hissed.

Struggling to her feet, she used magic to fold up the blanket and set it neatly down on the arm of the couch, and then gathered her things in preparation for leaving.

On quiet feet, she tiptoed into Draco's bedroom and leaned over him to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Silently, she bade him goodnight, and then crept out of his rooms, and back through the castle towards her own.

Along the way, she ran into Helena Merrythought doing the same.

The two women stopped and stared at each other. Hermione hadn't  _exactly_  forgiven Helena her deceit, but in that moment, she realised how truly silly it was to hold onto such a grudge for so long. After all, things had worked out for the best for both of them, and it truly seemed as if Helena had learned her lesson.

"It's silly isn't?" Helena said in a hushed tone, stepping forward and closing the distance between them, taking the first steps towards reconciliation. "Us sneaking around like two teenage girls out after curfew, and all for our men."

The thought had Hermione's lips twitching. "I haven't done this since sixth-year," she confessed.

Helena snickered. "I know, right?" She looked back the way she had come and sighed in resignation. "I love Theo, but he's something of a snorer. I can never get a full night's rest with him!"

"Draco's a serious bed hog."

The other woman rolled her eyes. "Slytherin males."

"Only child syndrome."

"Spoilt pure-bloods."

The two shook hands on that truth.

"Well, I suppose I'm off to bed before the Baron catches me," Helena said with a suppressed yawn. "Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Helena."

They went their separate ways, back towards their rooms.

It would not be the last time the two women met under similar circumstances. In fact, for the remainder of the school year, it became almost a ritual for them to meet sometime around the witching hour while skulking back to their rooms.

In no time, in fact, they'd become co-conspirators in the game of 'castle sneak and ghostly dodge' and even, Hermione liked to think, something like friends.

 

* * *

**Late-May, 2007**

As the month wore on, Hermione's libido continued to pound away at her. The hormones rushing through her body hadn't eased off, as the pregnancy books said they might. Instead, it felt like she was making up for those lost months she'd been without Draco, lusting after him with a madness that nearly drove her 'round the bend, as Ron might have said.

Fortunately, most of her needs were being well-sated by her lover; they'd certainly gotten up to quite a bit of naughtiness over the past few weeks since they'd agreed to become physically involved once more. To her disappointment, however, they hadn't had actual intercourse yet. His tongue and hands had left no place on her ever-expanding body unexplored, but as for her favourite part of his anatomy...well, it seemed to be content with her hands and mouth seeing to its needs.

Something was holding Draco back from going all the way with her, despite her myriad, increasingly desperate attempts to persuade him to take her to bed and keep her there all night. Consequently, her frustration only mounted after every 'session' they shared, despite achieving orgasms that left her breathless and floating.

She wanted them to become one again, to share the ultimate intimacy, but each time she attempted to seduce him into it, he found a way to turn it around on her.

Things finally came to a head after he'd once more slowed them down during a heavy snog and petting session in his room one night. "Is something wrong?" she asked, panting, her body throbbing for him to use his cock to finish her off. He'd been teasing her clit for the last half-hour with his hand, but had pulled away just shy of actually shoving his boxers to the floor and entering her hard—something she'd  _desperately_ needed and wanted right then. "Is there a reason you won't have sex with me now? Is it that you think we're going too fast or...something else?"

Female vanity had her wondering if it had anything to do with how big and bloated she'd become over the last month. Did Draco find her unattractive now that she was whale-sized, with thicker ankles, heavier breasts, and stretch marks carving into the landscape of her flesh? She cringed to think in such shallow terms, but the truth was she'd always been a bit self-conscious of her body, never quite as in-tune with it as she was with her mind. It was obvious that pregnancy hormones had been driving her emotions all over the road since her baby's conception and only exacerbating her insecurities, but it was difficult not to think such things. Men were physical creatures, driven by instinct and social training to seek out beauty, and Hermione felt as far away from 'bewitching' as could be right then.

Draco was quiet for a while, one hand resting on her hip, his gaze riveted on her exposed nipples. He seemed unsure as to how to phrase what was bothering him.

"You can tell me anything," she encouraged him and ran a hand through his soft, blond hair. "I promise to listen, to try to understand."

He bit his bottom lip.

"Just say it," she whispered. "Fast, like removing a plaster."

With a deep breath, he stammered, "If I take you too hard...you could...she... _Idon'twanttohurtthebaby."_

It took Hermione a moment to process what he was saying.

"Oh, that's... Draco, you won't hurt her by making love to me."

He seemed genuinely distressed at the idea, though. "What if I crush her?" he murmured so softly, so pathetically that Hermione felt her heart melt. "Or if I go too deep, would you miscarry?" His throat bobbed with anxiety. "What if I killed her by accident?" His hand moved from her hip to her belly, stroking it with gentleness. "I don't want to lose Carina, not before I've even met her!"

Trying not to laugh with relief, Hermione cupped Draco cheek and forced him to meet her eye. "The books all say it's actually beneficial for an expecting mother to have sex because it prepares her for delivery and makes the birth easier. Besides, Poppy has given me a clean bill-of-health, as has the healer at St. Mungo's, and they both said it was perfectly safe for me to have sex with you right up until the date of delivery."

His mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. "You  _asked_  them about it?"

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "You didn't think I'd go this long without, did you?" With a push and a shove, she had him on his back and was straddling him, intentionally placing her wet core right over the tent of his erection and giving it a good, slow stroke. The silk of his boxers felt good sliding along her clit. "As long as we're not too rough and I'm careful of the pressure against my belly, we can do this again and again." She stopped as a sudden thought occurred. "You  _do_  want to do this with me, don't you?"

His grey gaze softened and his hands reached up to cup her fuller breasts, giving them a light squeeze. "I  _always_  want to do this with you, Hermione. Everywhere, in every way. The thought of it has driven me to distraction far too many times, in fact...and in the most inconvenient places." He paused and met her eye once more. "You're sure it's safe?"

His concern for their daughter was sweet but unnecessary. She wiggled her bottom, brushing over his taut length. "Positive. As long as we're not too wild, it's the most natural thing in the world to have sex when pregnant. It'll even make things better for  _me_  overall, because sex is clinically proven to boost a woman's immune system, it'll relax me so I sleep better, it'll reduce my overall pain, and your semen contains a chemical that will soften my cervix, making delivery easier on me in the end." She gave him an arch look, daring him to challenge her knowledge on the subject. "So, really, consenting adults having sex is actually an issue of medical well-being, similar to eating your peas and brushing your teeth. Therefore, in the name of us both being healthier, I think we should concede that the experts know what they're talking about in this instance and just do it."

The grin he threw he was positively feral and filthy, and it made everything inside her go tight with immediate need.

"You're talking my boner to sleep, Granger. Let's get to the part where we fuck all night."

He didn't have to ask twice.

Clothing shucked in a hurry, they rid each other of the last doubts, inhibitions, and burdens and just let love be their guide once more.

And it was  _good._

 

* * *

**One week later...**

The Quidditch Final had been fierce, but as Draco had predicted back in February, Slytherin won. It had taken four hours and twenty-seven minutes for the Snitch to be caught, though. Not an easy match, and one of the longest in Hogwarts' history.

Draco was, of course, over the moon that his House had finally done the one thing he'd been unable to do during his entire Hogwarts' career: bring home to Q Cup. To his delight, the 'Malfoy Manoeuver' had even been attempted by the Seeker for the Silver Serpents, although the girl had flubbed the attempt, lacking Draco's flair for the dramatic.

After he'd returned from the Slytherin common room, where he'd given his heartiest congratulations to his students at their hard-won victory, Hermione and he privately celebrated his House's triumph in their favourite way...

The tight hold she'd maintained on the headboard had her knuckles going white. Behind her, Draco moved slowly, but there was a barely-repressed urgency in his shallow thrusts and in the grip he maintained on her waist that kept their love-making from being labeled 'tender'. Not that she wanted him to be, as much a slave to their passion as he was in that moment. Still, he was as careful as his lust allowed.

When his blunted teeth clamped down at the place where her shoulder met her throat, however, Hermione's eyes rolled back into her head and she shuddered in his arms. "God," she gasped as he sucked hard on her flesh, feeling a jolt of hot, intense pleasure shoot straight down her spine. "Draco..."

Was that her suddenly whining and pleading for him to sink deeper into her?

He lifted his mouth to tease her earlobe with his tongue. "Do you know how much I love you, my witch," he hissed in her ear as he slid his cock deeper into her, just as she'd asked. Grabbing onto a hunk of her hair, he gently pulled her head back and turned it so he could take her mouth. Hermione whimpered against his lips. "You're everything I've ever wanted, Granger. This is. It's more than I ever dreamed...more than I deserve."

He kissed her then, reclaimed her heart again and again as he continued to move within her.

"Please," he begged between kisses, and in that one word Hermione heard her own misgivings:

_Please don't let me mess this up._

_Please don't let there be any more misunderstandings._

_Please let me keep this._

_Please promise not to let me go ever again._

_Please love me forever._

Tears pricked her eyes, rolling down her cheeks.

Never had she been this happy. She'd thought it an impossible thing to feel this much love for one person. In truth, after everything that had gone down between her and Ron, she'd believed such a thing beyond her as well, because people who did bad things didn't get second chances, or so she'd always been told, and she'd done more than her share of mean things over the years, regardless of motive and levels of desperation. And yet here they were, she and Draco, two people who each had their own mile-long list of sins, who had done the unthinkable and had an affair...

Maybe their two 'wrongs' made one really big 'right'?

No matter, she'd take it, take  _him_ and what he was offering, and never look back again. The past was done with both of them, and this was their future now.

"I love you," she told him as she gasped to catch her breath, feeling the sweat slide down her back. She took his hand in hers and together, they flew higher than any Snitch.

* * *

**Beginning of June, 2007**

As O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, and final projects fast approached, the days became increasingly stressful for the students, but the teacher-proctors had been well-prepared for the worst, thanks to Minerva's series of staff memos on what to expect and how to react to different scenarios that had been flooding the teachers' mailboxes since March.

Still, it was an ugly time. Students cracking under pressure and plummeting into depression was difficult enough, but then there had been a suicide attempt by a Ravenclaw on the afternoon of Draco's birthday and that had put the entire staff on high alert. All personal plans for that day had been canceled as the professors kept vigil on their flocks, stamping down rumours as they flew throughout the castle and reassuring others and discussing the hard topic with honesty and forthrightness when the questions began.

A day later, when the all-clear came down from Poppy, and the student was said to have recovered and a mind-healer brought in to talk to him, Hermione decided a little pick-me-up was needed for the rest of the student body. With Minerva's permission, she called in all her friends from Dumbledore's Army to come the following afternoon, a Friday, and spend time with the children, to lend them some courage and 'pal around'. Classes were canceled for the one day and the Great Hall had been set up with board games and card games, with foodstuffs and punch. It wasn't a party. It was a day to unwind, to meet some heroes, to relax and not think of the following week, the final one for this school year.

"I'll try not to take it too hard that my kids are currently glued to Harry," Neville joked as he came to stand at Hermione's side.

"Mmm," she agreed. "He's a novelty."

"He ever get tired of it?"

"I think Harry was born tired, honestly."

Neville chuckled at that. "Still, he's good with them. Wonder why he didn't take up D.A.D.A."

"Why be tied to one castle when he could chase Death Eaters across the whole of England?" Ron joked, sidling up to them. He handed her a glass of water, which Hermione took with an easy 'thank you'.

"Besides who wants to dodge hot teenage girls all day," George added, squeezing his way between Hermione and Ron and throwing an arm around his baby brother's shoulders. He leaned on Ron like some sort of lazy jungle cat taking up a branch and grinned like a cheeky monkey. "Every man's nightmare, that is."

Hermione laughed, Neville snorted, and Ron wisely said nothing.

"Speaking of dodging," Ginny added, coming up on Ron's other side and leaning her head on his unoccupied shoulder. "Where's Malfoy? Haven't seen him all afternoon."

Checking her watch, Hermione said, "Finishing up castle rounds. We're all taking shifts with the Prefects and the Head Girl and Boy after what happened. He'll be down in another twenty minutes or so."

Neville sighed. "My turn next. Thought I'd given up sentinel duty when I'd turned in my Auror's badge, but I've done more walking the beat for Hogwarts than I ever had for the Ministry."

"But you prefer the work here," Hermione gently nudged him.

"Oh, absolutely! And evading a jinx is much preferred to dodging a curse anyway. Plus, more time off on this job. I can actually get a weekend to myself more than once a month."

"Speaking of how one spends their free time..." Taking a sip of water, Hermione not-so-innocently asked him, "How's Hannah?"

Three sets of curious Weasley eyes turned on their friend. All of them had known Neville had been the brokenhearted bachelor since Luna had left him years ago, but none had guessed he'd finally put that failure away and been successfully dating again. With two words, Hermione had just opened that proverbial can of worms.

Personally, she was hoping for a winter wedding for her friend, and there was no time like the present to push that agenda.

Neville turned a lovely shade of Gryffindor red.

"She's fine." He cleared his throat and nervously fiddled with his collar. "I've...given her earrings."

Ginny, Ron, and George all gasped at that news, clearly understanding the import of such a move.

Her co-worker glanced sideways at her, noting her mischievous smile and tossed one right back at her. "Heard you got your own pair from Malfoy a few months back."

Now it was Hermione's turn in the hot, bright ginger spotlight...which was exactly what it felt like when Ron's eyebrows hit his hairline and he openly gaped at her. Shite, her ex-husband had commented on them when they'd spent Christmas together at the Burrow this last December, and at the time she'd explained she'd gotten them during the staff's holiday exchange. It hadn't been a lie, technically, as Draco  _had_  presented them to her during that event, but she hadn't told the whole truth of the matter to Ron. They weren't something harmlessly given to her by her swap partner, Aurora, as she'd implied, but by another man declaring his feelings for her before her divorce had even been discussed with her husband.

Ron's ego would take a hit from this if he put two-and-two together, and it could create some unnecessary bad feelings between them.

Time to channel her lover's inner Slytherin and distract!

Waving her hand in front of her face, Hermione took another sip of her water. "Is it hot in here?" She shot Ginny a 'GIRLFRIEND ALERT-HELP!' glance. "It's really hot, right?"

Bless her heart, Ginny picked right up on the ruse and fell right into the game. "It's pregnancy. It tends to do that to a girl." She shoved Ron and George towards the refreshment table. "Go get us drinks."

"But...'Mione already has one!" Ron argued, even as George caught the hint, too, and tugged his little brother away.

"Close call, there," Neville said with a grin as the brothers walked away.

Hermione elbowed him. "Snake."

"Honey badger," he countered. "Hannah's influence. Besides, I've never liked serpents, as you well know." He faux shuddered. "They're more your thing, I think."

She glanced askance at her friend and conceded to his deviousness with a sigh. "Alright, you win. I won't pry into your relationship anymore. Lesson learned, professor."

"'O' for 'Outstanding'," he joked and they shook on it.

"Speaking of 'x's and o's'," Ginny said, gripping Hermione's shoulders and bodily turning her towards the exit of the Great Hall. "Ground control to Major Tom: we may have a problem."

Ron was talking to Draco in the open doorway.

Hermione's panic switch was instantly flipped. Everyone knew her ex-husband had the temperament of a firestorm: he burned fast, hot, and recklessly until he was either satisfied or snuffed out. Comparatively, Draco was like a red hot chili pepper: no outward flame to mark his danger, but when you bit into him, he badly burned you...and the effects lingered, sometimes causing permanent, irreversible damage.

The two near each other was a meltdown begging to happen.

"Merlin, no," she groaned, expecting the worst.

Just as she was about to march over and head off that explosion, something unexpected happened: Ron held his hand out to Draco. And after a brief hesitation, Draco took it. They shook.

"Oh. My. God," Ginny gasped. "Did I just imagine that?"

"You'd be surprised at how far Ron's come," Harry said, sneaking up behind them and wrapping his arms around Ginny's bulging middle. He kissed her cheek. "We've been talking. The divorce really changed him."

"It made him grow up, you mean," his wife said.

"Mmm," he agreed. "Think he had to lose to understand what it takes to be a winner."

"Looks like Malfoy learned that lesson, too."

"We all did, I think," Neville admitted.

Hermione watched, speechless and stunned, as her former lover and her current lover talked amicably for several minutes. No wands were drawn, no hexes cast, no dirty looks passed between them. At one point, Ron even grinned and seemed to chuckle at something Draco said. The sight brought tears to her eyes.

"I never thought..." she said, but was so overcome with emotion she couldn't finish the thought.

Neville's hand landed on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze in support. The touch was enough to remind her of where they were and that she had an audience of children watching every move any of the former heroes made. Quickly, she dashed at her eyes, clearing them.

"Well, that's my cue, I think," her co-worker said. "Time for my rounds. See you later."

As Neville headed off, Ron and Draco came towards them. They passed each other with a head nod.

On the way back, Draco was called aside by one of the first years in his House and he stopped to help her. Her ex-husband finished the trek alone and came to stand with her, Harry, and Ginny. All of them turned to watch Draco talking to the young girl, helping her with her Exploding Snap technique. He was patient and encouraging as he instructed her flipping cards, and all Hermione could imagine in that moment was how he would someday do the same with Carina Rose.

"He's going to be a great dad," Ginny told her.

"He'd better be," Ron mumbled, and Hermione knew that right there, he'd conceded entirely to her relationship with his former school rival. Whatever else had passed between them in their short talk, there had obviously been acceptance of their new roles in her life.

"Sure he will," Harry added, slapping Ron on the back. "He's got Hermione to keep him in line now."

Surrounded by her three closest childhood friends,  _her family,_  knowing they finally acknowledged that she could make her own life decisions, that the course her life would now take included Draco Malfoy, made her feel as if the war was finally over and she was home, at long last.


End file.
